


On Differing Translations

by felicia_angel



Category: Book of Life (2014), Supernatural
Genre: Angels are Dicks, Character Death, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Cursed Dean, Dean Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean's Soul, Dean/Cas Tropefest 2016, F/M, Gen, Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:45:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 67,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8043076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felicia_angel/pseuds/felicia_angel
Summary: At Dean Winchester's death, three gods of the Underworld give him a second chance. However, there is every chance he will be unable to live past a year, unless someone can figure out the secret of each 'gift' given to him.Castiel originally works to figure out the secret for Michael, but as he gets to know Dean, and understand each meaning, he begins to see why Dean was given a second chance.





	1. Fraying Strands

**Author's Note:**

> A wonderful thanks to my beta, Shannon, who not only did artwork but also helped me keep to the same tense ^^. Thank you so much!

_11:00 pm – Stanford, CA_

_October 30, 2005_

Dean had not been expecting Sam and the cute blond girl he’d been sleeping with to come after Dean when he broke in, but he’s actually kinda grateful that Sam’s found a girl who knows what she’s doing and can hold her own. She even gives him a curious, confused look when he comments on her Smurfs shirt and Daisy Duke sleeping shorts, but he’s not here to talk to her. He needs to talk to Sam, privately, and tells him, “Dad’s on a Hunting trip, and he hasn’t been back in a few days.”

Sam’s jaw clenches, and he tells his girl, “Jess…I need to talk to Dean alone.”

They go down to the Impala, where Dean explains what happened, despite Sam’s incredulous “Dad lets you Hunt _alone_?” which makes Dean bristle. He’s twenty-six, he can handle himself in a Hunt easily, but some part of Sam’s comment cuts into Dean. It’s a reminder of the fact that Dad _had_ only let him start Hunting alone after Sam left, and it wasn’t so much ‘let him’ as much as ‘left him alone with a note, coordinates for a new job, and little contact’. Dean had known it meant Dad was upset with him again – that Dean had failed again to protect Sam or convince him to stay with his family where it was safe. It had only happened twice before that fateful night, but the first time was enough of a failure. That Dad is still so angry he’ll leave Dean so little, forcing him to go to Sam for help hurts Dean in a way he doesn’t want to think about.

Dean focuses on explaining the job and what Dad gave him, Sam’s face dark and unreadable before he stands and turns to face Dean. “I already took care of that.”

“Wait, what?”

“It’s a Woman in White. She was up in Jericho, and I took care of that a few days ago, with Brady.” Dean blinks, trying to remember anyone they know named Brady. He comes up blank as Sam pushes on, “Do you know what happened when I tried to get information from Pastor Jim, two years ago when I noticed a really bad haunting? Did you even know I’d called him?”

Dean is silent, his surprise evident, and Sam snorts, upset. “Of course not. I tried to call up old contacts I remembered of Dad’s, to see if I might be wrong about something. You know what Pastor Jim said to me? He said that he was amazed I’d call him, after ‘what I did to John’. I was _blacklisted_ because I wanted to go to college, because I had a chance to go to Stanford and took it.”

Dean glares at him, upset at how Sam was ( _rightfully_ ) putting things. “You walked out on us.”

“I was willing to leave the door open! Dad’s the one who said that if I walked out, I should never come back, but I didn’t think he’d have the fucking _balls_ to call up all of our contacts and tell them that I’d left and not give them an explanation. Pastor Jim certainly didn’t listen. No one did. I had to get my own contacts and deal with this on my own when my _best friend_ turned out to be _possessed_. I had to bring _Jess_ into this hellhole life. The only person who talked to me was Bobby, and that’s just so he can piss Dad off, I know it. But I dealt with that Woman in White two weeks ago. If Dad or any of his contacts had bothered to keep up, he would have known and not sent you on a wild goose chase. He’d freakin’ call to find out if I even _want_ to go find him.”

Dean’s eyes widen in disbelief. “The hell are you saying, Sam? Dad’s out there! He might be--.”

“He isn’t.”

Dean glares at him as Sam walks back upstairs, Dean reluctantly following as Sam goes back into his room and over to an overstuffed duffel bag at one end. Jess is still up, watching with a worried look, as Sam removes Dad’s Journal from the pack and tosses it at Dean. Dean barely catches it in time, looking at Sam dumbly.

“Dad left all his shit in a hotel room, ran out when he realized it was a Woman in White and that he was gonna be targeted.” Dean wants to ask what that meant, wants to figure it out…but he could guess. “I found that before we figured out what was going on. It has coordinates for an area up in Colorado that isn’t exactly the best place – it probably has a werewolf pack or a wendigo there. I called someone about setting up information for a Hunt there, but if you want it, you take it. I’m done.”

Dean nearly throws the book back at Sam as his mind rebels against this information. Dad was a few hours away and hadn’t gone in to check on Sam. Dad had _blacklisted_ Sam, had cut him off as much as Sam had wanted to be cut off when he ran out.

A friend of Sam’s had been _possessed._ Because Dean hadn’t been able to convince him to stay, because he wasn’t enough, Sam was in danger again. “H-how can you trust that friend of yours, then? You said he was possessed, you said--.”

“Bobby gave us all the information we needed. I got an exorcism that doesn’t take as long as Dad’s stupid one,” Sam says angrily, “and we have protections against that happening to any of us. That’s what Dad was so upset with Bobby about, that’s why Dad never wanted us around Bobby – because then he wouldn’t have the fucking excuse that we were always in danger, that no place was safe. _Bobby_ taught me how to make my home and my life safe. He’s a better Hunter, better _person_ than Dad--.”

Dean shakes his head, glaring at Sam, his mind too torn. Dad is a hero ( _he left you alone, he made you bait for every Hunt that requires it_ ) and Bobby hadn’t taught him anything ( _You can be a snot-nosed kid for one day in your life/ You did_ what? _What were you thinking, Dean? You’re supposed to be prepared! How could you let him--_ ) and they need to find Dad, he might be in danger or ( _Dad, I’m hurt, I’m bleeding, I need help /– leave a message at the beep – the number you have dialed is no longer in service_ ) and he couldn’t do this on his own, he _couldn’t._

_Dad always came back for Sammy._

“Shut up,” Dean settles on, not seeing Jess has gotten up to put a hand on Sam’s arm, stopping Sam’s own tirade. Dean’s anger overwhelms his torn thoughts that he once more shoves away, shoves into a place that it won’t escape from. He can’t afford to think those things, he can’t be upset like this. He needs to focus, and anger is a focus. Pain isn’t. “Fine, so it’s over in Colorado. Dad might have left a clue there, something that we can use to make sure he’s ok, something--.”

“I’m not going.”

The words stab at Dean even more than the others had. “What?”

“I have an interview on Monday,” he tells him seriously, as unmovable as Dad always had been when he told Dean that they had to move, that they wouldn’t stay at the school any longer because they were done, or when he told Dean to leave Sam to do the research, that Dean was more useful ( _only useful_ ) as his partner, at Hunting and trying to save people. Sam is just leaving that all behind for some stupid interview? “It’s important to my career, it’s important to me,” Sam is saying, twisting the knife even more as he continues, “I can’t drive the two days to Colorado and get back in time.”

Dean wants to point out that he can easily drive that in a day. Hell, he could get them there and if Sam needs to fly back, Dean has a new credit card and he can easily get him a ticket. But he needs him this _one time_. Just for this one. Just to see where Dad is.

“Sam, please…I can get us there fast, you can take a damned flight back, I don’t care, but--.”

“No.”

The word rings final, and Dean can feel himself glaring at Sam and Jess, angry at her for understanding, at the fact she hadn’t decided to run off or call Sam a freak and a liar, like Cassie had called Dean( _You’re crazy. If you wanted me gone, you don’t have to make up some stupid elaborate prank_ ) and instead diving head-first into that life. Sam has his ‘normal’ life and it’s a safe one.

He doesn’t have room for Dean in it, just like Dad doesn’t.

Dean allows his anger to rise up again, to push down on the cuts and knife-twists that Sammy was throwing at him, and finally growls out. “Fine. Have fun playing house. I’m sure Dad’ll be happy to hear how much you appreciated all his training and help.”

Sam lets out a bitter laugh at that. Jess moves a bit closer to him, apparently upset with what Dean was saying, as Sam tells him, “You want to go find Dad and be his blunt instrument, you go and do that. I’m not gonna jump whenever you or he pulls shit like this for the attention.“

Dean glares at him, then snorts and turns, heading out to his car. He has enough time…he could make it and hopefully stop anyone in that area from being hurt. He knows the way to Colorado, and while it’s nearly a seventeen hour drive, he knows he could make it before the day is out.

He’d missed enough time running from New Orleans to here. He should have just gone straight to Jericho. At least then, he wouldn’t have to blast his ( _dad’s_ ) music as he drives out into the night.

\--

Sam lets out a breath as Dean finally leaves, relaxing a bit more when he hears the sound of the Impala leaving from under their window. He wishes that Dean hadn’t come, that he’d just sent Dean the journal and not had to go through seeing his brother act like a clone of their father. He knows that giving up on Hunting might have resulted in Brady’s possession, but it also resulted in Sam finally getting the _truth_ , in realizing that he could have a _home_ , without having to hide his abilities _._ It meant not having to deal with Dad’s bullshit while gaining Bobby’s acceptance. Sam wishes that Dad had left the two of them with Bobby or Ellen or somewhere like what the two had, instead of giving Sam a gun when he was afraid, or moving them so often that it was honestly amazing Sam managed to have records from schools. He wishes Dean would just _understand_ and not spout out the words that Dad always used.

Sam was grateful for the new group he’d found, realizing just how wrong Dad had been about the other Hunters he’d trusted but who failed so often. He wanted to tell Dean that he was using his degree to help out the Hunting community, by being a lawyer that would actually _know_ what they were doing, that would make sure they got lighter sentences, or that others would get the information so whatever they hunted would be taken out.

But Sam can’t think of any reason for him to give Dean his time when he was still so obviously going to defend Dad. It took four years, and acknowledging the stuff that Dad did was _not_ normal, even for Hunters, for Sam to start to feel stable. Now Dean just wants him to throw all of it away to go on a wild chase for their dad? To give John Winchester the satisfaction that he could still boss Sam around after all these years of no contact, no praise, nothing?

“You didn’t tell him,” he hears Jess say as he finally calms down.

“I know he’ll just see me as a freak, try to get me to stop, or try to say we need to consult Dad about it. Dad keeps his cards close. At least Bobby didn’t sugar-coat it and I got all the warnings we need about it. Dean and Dad will just sweep it under the rug.”

It was how he figured out Brady, but accepting that he was different, by calling up Bobby and getting that information during one long, book-binge summer. It was also why he couldn’t leave Jess tonight, why he’d been fine in lashing out against Dean and finally telling all the truths he’d never been able to tell his older brother. He hadn’t told Jess about the dreams, but he had told Bobby…and he was ready to deal with whatever would try to take Jess from him.

\--

_11pm-12am – Colorado_

_November 1-2, 2005_

The body is cool already, green eyes vacant and looking up towards the area where the group he’d rescued had escaped. In his hand is a used flare gun, and nearby lies the carcass of the Wendigo that had nearly killed the campers he’d rescued. The man has died a hero, unsung and unloved, and there would be no formal identification of him, no one to claim the body.

“He belongs in my land, then,” the tar-creature says simply as the candles on his shoulders light the dry, dark mine where the body lay. He notes the Reaper there, one who easily handed over the soul without any protest, though she looked a bit upset at his appearance. The soul disappeared into the hands of the other two that had arrived, signed by the warm, welcoming light that now shone over the pale, dead young man at his feet. The light stopped at the end of a dark cloak and the tar-creature put one head of a purple, dangerous snake-headed staff on the ground near the body’s head as he turned to look at the other two.

“He is remembered by his family,” the woman says, her red sombrero huge and covered in various decorations, the candles from that and the train of her long, red dress brightening the area. “And…” she pauses as a tall, golden glowing man with a long, cloud-like white beard, shows her the soul in his hand as a book flaps near him, looking sad. “Oh… _pero_ …” her silence obviously intrigues the tar-creature, getting him to slide over and look down at the soul golden man had taken from the reluctant Reaper, hidden and dulled next to his own glow. His eyes, green with red skulls within, widen and he looks back to the sightless green eyes of the man beside him. The candy-maid with them bows her head, wide sombrero covering them as the golden man says in a sad voice, “There isn’t anything we can do. He’ll be remembered but also forgotten. He belongs to no land.”

“That’s because he’s ours,” a new voice makes the trio look over, taking note of the new arrival. He is an older man with dark hair, standing at a stiff, unnaturally straight posture in his dark, cheap suit. Behind him are multiple people, all of them stiff and looking almost unnatural in their posture. The candy-woman, La Muerte, tosses her head in defiance, hand going to her hip as she looks at the man and his group. The tar-creature, Xibalba, flares his wings in irritation. The gold-glowing man, the Candlemaker, shifts to protect the soul in his hands when he sees the others behind him, one a balding man with a gray suit who glares at them with annoyance.

“Michael,” La Muerte says smoothly, looking over at the black-haired man, “To what do we owe this pleasure, _angelito_?”

“Don’t you dare speak to him like that, pagan,” the balding man hisses, “you—“

La Muerte looks at the balding man with a fiery gaze, her candles blazing as much as her eyes as she growls at the angel, “Do _not_ start with me, _cabron,_ and don’t disrespect us. It is because of _us_ that your Heaven works so well. Or do you believe yourself stronger than the ones who scolded your father as a wailing babe?”

Quiet settles over the angels as Michael watches La Muerte and finally looks away first, just as they hear a cruel, childish laugh from the other end of the cave system. Xibalba turns, his own wings against his back and the snake-staff hissing fiercely, his voice cold and carrying a great deal of annoyance as the laugh quiets. “You’re even more of a child, _diabolita_ , so don’t you start. And neither of you have a claim on him,” he glances back at Michael, noting that he is obviously using an inferior vessel to come here, if the signs of decay on it are any sign. “The path laid out did not happen, and now will not happen. As a man who doesn’t believe in Heaven, he will not travel there for you to get your paws on him. And as a man who has done good deeds and the work of the Righteous, he will not end up in Hell,” he glares over at the little girl and her own entourage that had arrived.” Therefore, his place is either in _my_ land,” Xibalba points to himself, “or the land of _mi amor_ ,” he waves to La Muerte, who bows slightly before sending both groups, Angels and demons, backwards with a glare. “For either of you to claim him would mean he’d be torn in half, and neither of you can tell which half he’ll get. Maybe Heaven will get the Righteous, and Hell the Vessel? Do you want to risk your little game on bruising and destroying an already battered soul?”

The Candlemaker pulls the soul nearer to him, looking ready to disappear if threatened, as the little girl with white eyes and the dark-haired, adult Michael step up to the other two gods, Michael looks imperious while Xibalba watches both parties with interest. Michael is the first to speak, “He is not due to die. He does not belong to your lands, and we in Heaven will take him and resurrect him.”

The white-eyed girl speaks up quickly, attempting to sound bored when she looks far from it, “All I have to do is have my demons say the right thing, and he’ll be remembered, and then what will you do? I can get one of the Righteous down to Hell just by offering his life to his father. I doubt if it’s as beat-up as you say that he’s anywhere near Righteous.”

Xibalba lets out a snort, La Muerte rolling her eyes as the two begin to circle around the now-cold body, walking so that Xibalba now faces down the angels and La Muerte looks over the small group of demons behind the child. “Neither one of your groups could resurrect him without causing more issues with that Grand Plan your dear old Dad thought up and left you with,” Xibalba points out simply, moving to pet his staff as it hisses aggressively at Michael, but stays in a staff form, “I’m sure you’ll mess up resurrecting him too, even with a body to start with.”

“Resurrecting one whose soul you’re already holding in Heaven or Hell is easy enough with the right power. But to resurrect one who doesn’t believe? Who doesn’t belong to your realms, but with us?” La Muerte shakes her head like she was chiding a child, which only makes little girl look angry, “You should leave it well alone. That calls for more than a desire to bring him back for selfish reasons.”

“What would _you_ suggest, then?” the possessed girl challenges, getting La Muerte to straighten and look at Xibalba, his wings rustling in interest. He gives his La Muerte a sly smile before saying, “How about a wager? Nothing too serious, of course, but this mess,” he motions at the body, “will be reversed and you’ll be back on track…well, for a bit _._ ” He looks at Michael and the demon-possessed girl, adding, _“_ Resurrecting someone, even on the Day of the Dead, requires for at least a bet to be laid, if not won.”

Michael glares as Xibalba continues, walking over next to the smiling La Muerte and the quiet Candlemaker.  “The three of us will be able to resurrect him and leave him whole and sane, in a way neither of you can.”

La Muerte nods to Michael, looking at his already disintegrating Vessel, and at the angelic guards behind him that had backed away from her as she says, “He will still be the Righteous Man who can unlock your Cage, and he’ll still be available for that Vessel of yours, and your big title fight.” Candlemaker glances at the body before adding, “We can bring him back, but there will be a steep price for our services.”

There is some murmuring among the two groups, one man with off-white eyes looking greedily at the soul while the Angels wrinkle their noses but otherwise remain silent. One angel watches the Candlemaker intensely, it’s blue eyes locked on the soul, as Michael and the girl, Lilith, finally speak up at the same time.

“What is the wager?”

Xibalba smiles wide as La Muerte watches on, looking proud, before she speaks up, “ _Es simplamente._ It will take three things from us to bring him back to life and keep his roles intact, an Item for each of his roles - as the Son, as the First Seal, and as the True Vessel. However, this will only last him one year, since his roles are so burdensome. During that time, you two,” she points at Michael and Lilith, “must discover the meaning behind our gifts. On the anniversary until his death, you will come and tell us what you learned.”

“Guessing three out of three correctly makes the soul _yours_ , no matter what other claims there might be on it,” Xibalba tells them, his wings shifting on his back “If neither of you two manage a single clue, then he will return to as he is now, as a soul with no hope for Heaven, no sin for Hell, and who is neither Remembered nor Forgotten.” Xibalba looks over at Michael, “Well, _Miguelito?”_ he glances at Lilith, with another grin, “Well, _diabolita_? Are you in? Win and see what sort of thing you can make of this soul, with all of its destinies at your fingertips.”

Michael is ramrod straight, appearing to still be the regal ruler of Heaven, while Lilith looks at Xibala with only a hint of worry before the two nod in agreement. Behind them, various demons and angels shift, looking uneasy. A dark-haired one in a tailored suit looks almost annoyed as the off-white eyed one gives a smirk that promises pain. The angels all look angry or annoyed, save a blue-eyed one who watches and seems to think on things silently, his eyes drawn to the hidden soul.

“We agree to the wager,” Michael and Lilith said in unison, as the power in the air finally cracked, now full of purpose.

Xibalba and La Muerte grin, the Candlemaker looking happy as he says, “I’ll go first, a gift to bring back the Faithful Son.” He motions to the book near him, which moves to hide the soul behind its large pages, before the soft sound of a page being torn out could be heard. “I gift it with a blank page.”

“I’ll go next, for the Righteous Man who can hold or break a Seal,” La Muerte walks up, moving and taking out a huge, sun-colored marigold that had bloomed along her dress, nearest to where her heart would be. “ _Mi_ _cempasúchil_ for him to carry.” She puts it down on his body, a flower laying down like one for a funeral, covering the center of his chest.

Xibalba opens his mouth to speak, then closes it and seems to reconsider. “My gift is far better if the _Vessel_ only knows it.” He leans down next to the dead body, covering it with his large wings as he whispers, his own body hidden as he did so. Whatever he says, it is heard by neither the angels nor the demons, all of whom appear uncomfortable with that fact. Xibalba straightens and waves a gloved, clawed hand, La Muerte doing the same before the Candlemaker follows, their magic flowing into the body that had been cold, giving it back warmth and returning it to life. Before long, the sound of a heartbeat comes, and breath comes back to his lungs.

“Remember your part in this wager,” the trio says, turning to look at the two sides, “We will see you in a year.”

The dismissal is a final one, and the two groups leave with a great deal of reluctance, one lone angel lagging behind long enough to see Dean jerk awake, and look up at the three who’d revived him.


	2. Burnt Pages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel travels to Earth, hoping that time spent with Dean Winchester will aid in saving his soul and guiding it to Heaven. During the months, though, he begins to learn more about Dean, his predicament, and what he has planned for his ultimate fate...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wonderful thank you again to Shannon, my beta and artist! Artwork for this chapter, and her tumblr page, is [here](https://wheatandwheatbyproduct.tumblr.com/post/150470766382)

“This is ridiculous!” Zachariah complains for what was surely the hundredth time, if Uriel and Balthazar’s obvious muttering to one side said anything. Castiel pauses where he is, watching his garrison as they sit around and act like their assignment is, by far, the worst thing ever. It’s part of the reason Castiel was always seen as so odd among them - he enjoys watching Humanity, enjoys the people they were asked to care for, while many angels view them as beneath them, a mistake that Father had decided to coo over and which Michael and Lucifer would ultimately wipe out after their final battle. It was better when their souls were in Heaven and at peace, not when they are running around ruining things.

“Those pagan freaks aren’t anywhere, and what’s the use of a blank page, or a marigold? What did that bastard say to the mud-monkey?” Zachariah continues on this vein as Castiel walks over to Uriel and Balthazar, his presence immediately sobering the two.

“I take it there’s been no progress.”

“How observant of you, Cassie,” Balthazar says, sarcasm bleeding into his tone, “No, it’s been days and we’re no closer to figuring this nut out than we were when we saw the items. You were there, you’ve been watching over the little monkey. What do you think?”

Castiel lets out a breath. “I doubt that we’ll get two of the clues if we act like this. The wager was to figure out their significance, yet we know little about Dean Winchester or his life beyond what was Written for him, and even then it is kept vague.”

Uriel shrugs, obviously annoyed, “What is there to know? He happens to be a special mud-monkey, so what?”

“He died fighting a wendigo,” Castiel points out, “meaning he’s a Hunter. His lineage is important - to call on Michael and such foul abominations at the occasion of his death, he must be from the mixed bloodline of those who Hunt and those who Study monsters. He would also need one he cares about enough to either give up his soul, or remain on the earth and do what is needed.” He lists off the necessary points that they all knew important Vessels would need. “That he’s being targeted by Demons as well worries me, though. They move around the world a bit more freely than we do, even if they are few now with the sealed Hellgates. Still, that will give them an advantage that we do not have, if they find one that is focused enough.”

“Then _what_ , pray tell, do you suggest, _Castiel_?” Zachariah’s annoyed voice says that he’d at least overheard the last part, and Castiel turns to look at his superior, tilting his head and saying what he’d already thought. It was obvious to anyone who observed humanity, but Castiel is pretty sure that of his garrison at least, possibly even all of Heaven, only he did such things.

“I suggest that one of us go and travel with Dean Winchester. There were no restrictions against that, and he will not trust a demon, but he may trust us if we aid him with his Hunting. It will allow us to figure out the three gifts, possibly even figure out the secret he was told, and that information will allow Michael to fully win the soul that rightfully belongs to Heaven. It will also build trust, so that Dean Winchester will see us in a positive light, and will do his best to help us instead of the demons.” Everyone is quiet at his proposal, a few looking like the thought of being near humanity for so long was downright disgusting. A year of following after a _human_? Even if it was a human that Michael saw as important, Castiel knew that by proposing this, he would be the one who went to Earth and did this task.

Zachariah is quiet for a long time, like he’s trying to figure something out, then finally offers them a smirk in Castiel’s direction. “Since you volunteered for it, Castiel, how about you go and see if you can’t join Dean Winchester on his little merry chase? We’ll continue our work here.”

Castiel bows slightly, acknowledging that he has accepted the task, before turning to leave his garrison. He saw Balthazar give him a look that said he was grateful it was Castiel and not him, and Uriel wrinkled his nose in disgust at the thought of what Castiel would have to do. He doesn’t mind. He has found his Vessel already, surprised to find a twin to what should have been his True Vessel, and one that met the criteria but also who had a fading, sad soul. It was dying, and Castiel’s arrival would mean he would be sent to Heaven.

That suited Castiel fine, he doubts he would need a soul within his Vessel, not for what he needs to do. He simply needs to find and follow Dean, gain his trust, and win the bet for Heaven.

\--

_Wisconsin_

_November 28, 2005_

Dean lets out a groan as he gets back into the hotel, moving to where a small, potted marigold sits on the dresser, rubbing its leaves slightly in greeting before moving on to start to pack all of his items away. The last few cases were all restless spirits, but with no contact from Dad or Sam, let alone any other Hunter, Dean has to guess that they all thought he was dead and being eaten by the Wendigo as a failure. It was a sobering thought, but one that Dean knows too well. He’d been abandoned or used by enough Hunters, and hadn’t even seen any sign of the other Hunters Sam claimed would be in Colorado, hunting the camper-eating sonuvabitch he torched. He vaguely remembers his return to life, but only knows the marigold he’d gotten from the red-haired woman is tied to his life now. It’s a tangible thing that’s _his_ , and not a remnant of Dad or Sam, and while he’d originally disliked its hold on him, some part of Dean has grown fond of it as well.

Dean wonders how he’ll be able to tell them the truth of it all. About what happened when he woke up after being dead, about the burning heat that smolders under his skin constantly, especially when his emotions build up, or about the dreams he’s had, the feel of keeping something quiet until he feels _right_ about...something he can’t figure out.

More importantly, he wonders how he can tell Dad or Sam about what he was told to do in the year left to him. About the three things keeping him upright, until a wager is over with and his soul, as the prize, is gifted to Heaven or Hell.

_“Your page is blank, so you must go to where it started, and continue to where it’ll end, and write your own story.”_

There was a problem with that, though, one Dean hasn’t vocalized to anyone. Dean _couldn’t_ do it. He just...he’d sworn to himself so much that he _wouldn’t_ do it, and now he has until November next year to go home, to at least _be there_ , and, what? Come to terms with the loss there? And anyway, where _would_ it end? He has to find the thing that killed mom, and he has no clue _what_ that is. If Dad knew, his notes were all torn out so Dean wouldn’t know. Sam already has his ending - fiancée, life, and he gets to still be a Hunter? Yeah, Sam has it all, and that leaves Dean with...nothing.

A blank page has nothing on it, and would do nothing but show how empty his life has been.

Dean breathes in the scent of mold and marigold, looking over and once more rubbing the petals and leaves of the flower, wishing he had more to show for his final year besides the three things. he’d never suspected how soothing La Muerte’s gift it would be, caring for the little thing. He feels like that Professional guy and his little potted tree or whatever. The Candlemaker’s gift, though,has him wishing he could avoid what they demanded of him.

Dean finishes tidying up the room and gets his little marigold ready for transport, wondering if he shouldn’t get something to camp in so it’ll be safer. The Impala has the horsepower to tow something easily, but he also doesn’t know how overall practical it is. It’d allow him to save some money and instead camp out, but he’s too used to motels. Besides, if he got an RV, it would feel like he’s admitting that he’ll never have a real home, that the search for mom’s killer will go on for too long for that change to happen. It’s admitting that the blank page in his life is just that – that there is no writing his life because it belongs to Dad, and Sam, and the Hunt to avenge Mom, to save people from evil spirits and things that preyed on them. None of that is his, so why should he start it with some stupid RV that would just slow him down, make him a target? It was better to move, to rely on salt and shitty, off-the-road motels, than a place that could be attacked and destroyed.

Dean shakes his head clear before returning to packing up the Impala, getting his duffel and everything else, picking up the sturdy pot he’d gotten to house his little flower in, and finally heads outside. It’s hours before checkout, but Dean wants to get a head start, to get into town and see if he couldn’t find the next job while he casually avoids what he has to actually do.

_It’s not even my story. It’s Sam’s, and Dad’s. I’m just the side character in it, who has no story._

There is a man waiting just outside of his door, and Dean nearly knifes him on principle, startled out of his dark thoughts that brought up the familiar heat into his chest. “Jeezus...what the hell, man? I still got time to check out.” The dude is weird, a bit shorter than Dean, with a rumpled suit, backwards tie, and a tan trenchcoat over it all. His hair is basically set in permanent bedhead, messy and dark, while his eyes are just...huge. Huge and blue, looking at Dean curiously without blinking at Dean’s surprise.

Dean glares at him when he doesn’t move, finally stepping around him and slamming the motel door shut. “What, you from management or do you just need something?”

The man blinks and tilts his head, looking like a confused puppy. “You seem very open for one who is being fought over by Heaven and Hell.”

That stops Dean short, getting him to look at the man as he got hold of a knife, sliding it into his long jacketed sleeve and glaring at him. “The hell did you say?”

The man looks confused again, but speaks simply, like he was attempting to calm down a wild animal. “You do not have trouble hearing, and I know that the three gods gave you an explanation, so you know when the wager is up.” He says ‘gods’ disdainfully, and Dean bristles as he continues to glare at the man - thing, if it knew about that wager - while also shifting so the marigold is away from whatever this thing is. Dean manages to get hold of the knife in his other hand as he says, “If they did, so what? Why should I even listen to you?”

“I wish for what’s best,” the man says simply, “and I am here to help, not hinder, whatever it is you need to do.”

Dean snorts. “Really? Or are you just here to see if you can’t get the whole thing out of me?”

The man looks confused and finally says, “No. We were told to find the significance ourselves, and I doubt you know any items.” He seems to not notice the marigold, which doesn’t surprise Dean. Not a lot of people really do, thinking it’s...something else, or just some random flower he has, if they notice it at all. Dean could run with this guy thinking he’s an idiot and doesn’t know anything, as much as it pains him. It only reminds Dean that his main uses have been whittled down to Hunting (when he doesn’t die), and being bait so better Hunters can kill off the monster instead.

Dean finally says, “Yeah, well, if you need to figure this shit out, what do you need me for?”

“The significance of each has an obvious human note to them,” the thing says to him, “and it was agreed that we should go and help you with your task, as you are obviously working to save people and not purely out of some petty human emotion like revenge or unnatural curiosity.” He watches Dean with a searching look that makes Dean feel even more self-conscious, like he was being looked _through_ instead of _at_ , and it only adds to Dean’s unease and unhappiness with the man. What the hell is he? Does he really think he is convincing Dean to _trust_ him on this?

“I assume you are going elsewhere now for new case?”

“I have a new case already,” Dean states simply, not wanting to give him more information about where he’s actually going, or the fact that he doesn’t actually have a case, “and I don’t need you to come along, asshole.” Dean slips the knife back up his sleeve and moves towards the Impala, opening the door as the guy appears in the passenger side, getting Dean to nearly start before he angrily throws the duffle bag into the back seat. He still holds the marigold away from the thing, hoping it wouldn’t notice the item. “What part of ‘no, I don’t need your help’ didn’t you get?”

“I find that hard to believe, when you were so easily dispatched by a Wendigo, and it took you so long to discover and dispatch that ghost in the water. You need someone with you, or your recklessness will kill you before even half of your year is up.”

That nearly makes Dean slam his fist on the hood of the car, but he remembers the knife in his sleeve. Instead, he draws in a deep breath before pointing to the man, anger rising over the wording. Everything that Dad and Sam had criticized him on, had yelled at him about when he had a bleeding wound from claw marks or attacks, when his body ached because he had just been thrown into a wall hard by a ghost or witch.

_How could you let it get you? What are you, stupid? You had one job, Dean, how do you fuck that up?_

All of those injuries he got while he gave _them_ the opening needed to gank it. They never asked if he was ok, never showed a sliver of worry unless it was serious. No, instead they asked Dean why he couldn’t do shit by himself. When it was serious, suddenly they had to pull out all the stops, had to make sure he was _safe_ , and then apologized for not realizing the danger they had pushed Dean headlong into.

Except now, Sam and Dad wouldn’t answer his calls, because why would they answer Dean’s calls? He was just the guy who had a year to live because he’d recklessly saved all but one guy from that now-charred Wendigo.

One had died. One more life on Dean Winchester’s head, because he’d spent that extra few minutes trying to get Sam to come with him, instead of just leaving him alone and going on his own.

“ _Fuck you_ ,” he manages to growl out, “I was there to save the campers and their family and I _nailed_ it. If I’d waited one more day, another guy would’ve _died_. I got them out, I did my damned _job_. My job means that I have to figure out what the hell is going on, and not jump into stupid conclusions that could get someone else killed. It means seeing kids or parents die while one or two others might live, and carrying that crap in my head until I finally die. You don’t get to judge me for dying when you don’t even _know_ how I died, don’t even acknowledge that I _saved people_.” He scoffs, yanking open the driver side. “You want to get to know me? You can’t even act worried about the people I helped. I don’t know what you are, and that makes you the enemy. So fuck off.”

Dean climbs into the Impala and drives away, not even bothering to look back at the man who stays standing in the parking lot, watching him leave with a curious look on his face before, between breaths, he disappears.

\--

“Cassie! Where is the human?” Balthazar’s human Vessel voice has Castiel turn, looking at the suit and tie, done up perfectly compared to Emmanuel’s own. Then again, Emmanuel Novak had been having issues – he’d accepted Castiel so his twin, Jimmy, would be spared the pain, and he’d accepted Castiel easily, without any pushes or fighting, before his soul sputtered and went to Heaven and its eternal reward. He wonders if Balthazar is a bit uncomfortable in the body, noticing that he’d already undone the buttons on the jacket and looked a bit annoyed with how it looked. Then again, Balthazar had only ever experienced his Vessel having finer clothing, so it’s likely he simply has to get used to that sort of thing.

“He went to look into deaths caused by a vengeful spirit,” Castiel says, looking down at the mark where the body had been, and then back to where the remains of the Wendigo are, examining it with his Grace. “He did not want my help.”

“He sounds quite ungrateful.”

“I believe I said something that upset him, concerning his death and a case he’d worked recently. If I understand what upset him, perhaps he will not be so hostile when we go see him. Also, I placed a small tracking spell on him. If he is truly in danger, I will know.” He glances up at Balthazar and slowly stands. “What do you see here?”

Balthazar frowns, but at Castiel’s look, he walks between the two areas and glances around, at first not seeming to take it seriously, then frowning in obvious confusion, walking a bit further around, transporting briefly to a few places before reappearing before Castiel, his face obviously confused. “He died from…it appears he fought the Wendigo head-on. He did his best to hurt it or direct it towards him, not the others, so the blunt force was probably bad for his body. Signs show there were two people being held – he saved both, though one was more likely dead weight, in both a literal and figurative sense. But he and the others here took them out.” He glances at Castiel before finally saying, “He died with the Wendigo, after getting the final man out. A hero’s death, but considering what was said, or at least what I’ve heard, I’m hard pressed to believe his soul is really worth all the fuss...his body certainly, but Righteous souls are bright, bright enough that they should’ve made the candle-god dull.” He looks excited as he asks, “Well, Cassie darling, what did it look like?”

Castiel is quiet, then says, “It’s very hard to describe, but I suppose I can say that I haven’t seen it.”

“You didn’t even peek?”

“No, I mean I couldn’t see it. The blank paper that the candle-god put around it has kept me from seeing it. I was also not in his presence long enough to take a good look, beside noting it’s about the same light and color as a normal soul.”

Balthazar lets out a sigh and looks down at the outline of where Dean’s body had landed. “His lineage is what’s important, we just have to get an older and younger son of the same lines. His soul is probably normal anyway, but with Michael’s focus on him, this changes things too much.” Castiel looks at Balthazar as he feels something from the spell he’d left on Dean, a sort of tug to indicate danger. He reaches through it easily, seeing a ghost woman with bloody eyes, standing over Dean as he reaches for something. He’s been attacked by the spirit in a way that could easily be fatal, but not just yet. Castiel watches as the spirit speaks.

_“You let them all die. All those lives, you failed them by being slow, being afraid, being not worth your father’s training and trust. Now Sam and Jess will die, and it will be—“_

He sees Dean turn and hold up the mirror, redirecting the curse and the spirit’s anger at itself, a move that makes Castiel blink. The words the spirit had been saying were meant to pull out the feeling that it was how a death or deaths were the target’s fault before the curse itself killed the person. Dean, for some reason, has more than just the general regret that he’s known other Hunters to feel about the deaths of those who die during the course of an investigation and kills of tainted being. Most focused more on the one that died whom they knew, or the family need to protect others from dangerous things.

But…Dean believes that he must save _everyone_. That to not do that means he has failed completely, that even with the monster dead, there was a life lost because of how slow he worked, because he couldn’t figure things out. It’s linked to something deeper, something that Castiel can’t see without being nearby and looking into Dean’s mind as deeply as he could go. It might be worth exploring, but Castiel also worries that it would cause Dean to not trust him, and therefore Heaven, so Castiel would either need to find the thread and pull it easily out, or risk ruining the whole thing.

“Something going on, Cassie?” Balthazar’s voice brings him back to his physical present. “The mud-monkey in danger?”

“He was, but he managed to escape it,” Castiel admits, turning before saying, “I should attempt to speak to him again.”

Balthazar looks almost relieved before he says, “Do you want help?” It was said with the clear indication that Balthazar didn’t _want_ to help but would offer it nonetheless.

Castiel considers this for a long time before finally saying, “Dean’s brother is important, to him and to his role as the Righteous Man. Dean’s father is searching for the one responsible for his wife’s death. Both will be important to us, because they are important to Dean. If anything, they may also be untapped resources.” He glances at Balthazar. “Sam Winchester is tainted by demon’s blood, and there are others like him around. Dean’s father will be harder to gain an audience with. Sam seems to be in a more stable area.” They both move until they are in Sam’s apartment, invisible to the three speaking inside, two tainted by a demon’s presence in some way, and one with a life extended just as Dean’s had been cut short. “I know his presence will not be easy to stand, Balthazar, and I don’t ask this easily…”

Balthazar gives a nod and smirk. “I’ll go and sneak myself into their little group. I don’t intend to let the yellow-eyed bastard demon get to this one so soon, but I am curious what he is doing. It feels like he has tainted more than one child, all with his own blood. That should give me a way to find them all...perhaps get little Sammy to enjoy his time as a leader of tainted half-demon spawns. Who knows, we might even get them on _our_ side instead.”

\--

Castiel watches from afar as Dean speaks to a young woman, making sure she is comforted and safe. She appears to be recovering from her ordeal, easily leaving Dean alone near his black vehicle and going to her own before driving away. He sees Dean glance around, stopping when he spots Castiel. His formerly curious features turn into a glare before he walks back into his new motel room.

Castiel considers his next move. He hasn’t told Dean what he is, and currently he can feel many types of anti-demonic and anti-monster wards up and around the small room. None would keep Castiel out, and he can easily go into the room without breaking any, but he doubts that will work. He needs to fully introduce himself, needs to prove that he’s not an abomination like the ones Dean fights. He could dream-walk...

No. Castiel wishes to speak to Dean and learn more, and sleep is not always the best place for such things. Castiel instead walks up to the door, remembering that humans tended to knock so they could be invited in. He’s about to start when the door is opened partly, and Dean’s voice comes from the other side. “Come in, then.”

Castiel slowly reaches up and pushes open the door, walking in and over the salt line. He watches as Dean pulls out two beers and offers one to Castiel, apparently as a show of faith. He must have waited too long, because Dean lets out a sigh and puts the beer down near the tv, opening up the other one and drinking briefly.

“What do you want?”

“I came back to…apologize…for what I said. I was under false impressions, and did not understand what you do as a Hunter, nor the fact that you were Hunting alone at the time.” It gets Dean to look over at the angel, at least, even as Dean continues to drink. “I was not working with a great deal of understanding for Hunters, but you also must understand that I am here to see if I might learn more to help you survive until everything is done.”

Dean looks like he’s not sure how to take the truthful criticism leveled at him, but instead of speaking on his upset, he takes another drink and shakes his head. “Well, what are you, exactly? You have a name? You’re not anything that I ever encountered, and you’re not in the journal if you walked through those wards so easily.”

Castiel knows a lie would only result in Dean not trusting him fully, and instead goes with what little truth he asked for. “My name is Castiel. I am an Angel of the Lord.”

Dean lowers the beer, looking ready to throw it or yell, and instead glares at Castiel as he growls out, “Bullshit. I’m not buying what you’re selling.” His lack of faith is surprising to Castiel, enough for him to see that this is probably the reason for why he would not be admitted into Heaven. That it’s so violent towards Castiel simply because he’s an _Angel_...

Dean shifts, turning fully and looking ready to fight Castiel, even if he wouldn’t win. “So what do you really want, huh? You said you want me to get on Heaven’s side, instead of Hell’s, in whatever bet you two have going, right? Why?”

Castiel frowns at that, tilting his head. Does Dean know more about the so-called wager to keep him alive and in his rightful place within fate? Castiel takes a moment before he answers, “We do not wish you to be at Hell’s mercy, and I was commanded to watch over you, and to hopefully help with figuring out what certain things mean, within the time you have been given. I have considered carefully, and instead of watching you from afar, I believe the best way to help you is to follow you and aid you in your work.”

Dean’s glare softens a little, and he slowly relaxes before saying, “I don’t _want_ to be fought over for whatever reason you say...I doubt my destiny is really that great for you two to give me so much time.” He reaches towards a spot on his chest, the area that Castiel had seen the marigold laid out, before saying quietly, “They gave me a chance to help people, to save them and Hunt the evil bastards that are after them. All I need is that and I’ll be Jake, but....” he stops, taking a long drink of the beer, before glancing back at Castiel. “You can help me out all you want, but I’m not gonna give you anything about whatever you think you need. That ain’t my job.”

Castiel slowly nods before saying, “I understand. I simply wish to learn more, and help out with something I know much about. I will not hinder your own progress.”

Dean drinks in silence for a longer time before saying, “Ok. Deal.”

\--

_Ankeny, Iowa_

_December 28, 2005_

Dean wishes that the whole Hookman thing hadn’t ended with a whole freakin’ church acting like Cas was the damned second-coming while the guy just blinked and looked at them all. It had given Dean time to sneak out, at least, and get himself ready to leave the town again, another bad ghost taken care of, another person saved.

The death of the boyfriend is still something that he hates to think about – poor bastard – but at the same time, a girl tells you to slow the hell down, you do that. He’s event less happy with her being upset at the roommate - the judgment had nearly resulted in someone’s death, and the girl had been torn up about it, but she also was obviously hoping that her roommate would learn from a near-death experience to be more modest or something.

 _Right_. That was what she had to learn here...

Dean looks over at the marigold as he waters it, and lets out a sigh. He’s not sure what people see it as, only that no one else sees it or the items given for its care that the he’d gotten after returning from the woods. He’s more grateful that Cas isn’t here, and that the holiday has meant no one else being around to hear him talking to what must look like empty air.

“He’s a useful, funny little guy, huh?” Dean strokes the petals slowly. “Before…before this all ends, I’ll put you on Mom’s grave. She’ll love you, I think, more than I will, and if anything, people will see you there. She’s probably in the land of the Remembered, having a grand old time, isn’t she?” he looks down and lets out a sigh. “Wish Sam would give me a call.” he reaches up to touch the small amulet that he’d gotten from Sam, all those years ago, when he’d finally had to tell Sam the truth, against orders. Dad had been livid when he found out, but considering it’d been through Dad’s journal that Sam really found out, he’d at least allowed it. Plus, at the time, Dean had just told the truth, had allowed Sam in on the secret so he would understand what was going on and why they did it, what Dad was _really doing_ , what he _really was_.

_Dad’s a hero, isn’t he? He was then...wasn’t he?_

His doubts kept coming back to him, more and more since early last month, and Dean hates that. He hates that he can’t shove them down, can’t hide them behind his anger and drink anymore. He wants to go back, wants to make sure he can be the person that his Dad wants him to be. That means being able to save people, to draw out the monster at _him_ and not the ones who are most vulnerable, to not die while Hunting something he’s gone after before, and it means not thinking of a dark-haired, blue eyed _thing_ as _hot_. Winchester men like women, not men. Winchester men don’t try on their girlfriend’s panties and like it. They don’t blow guys for more money at a pool hall more than the actual pool sharking they should be doing instead. They don’t think of monster walking around in some poor guy’s body as good-looking or kind or a _friend_.

Monsters are monsters. They’re meant to be killed until there aren’t any left, so that people can be safe. No matter what Cas might say about the body he is inhabiting, Dean can’t believe or forgive Cas for actually having the _gall_ to say that anyone wants to be possessed, to have their body used by something and ridden around in like some sack that’s filled and emptied and refilled again.

Dean can’t forget that Cas is a thing, a monster that wants to learn something so it can claim ownership of Dean’s soul. It’s no different from the demons that supposedly are also after Dean, but who are doing a much better job of hiding. It wants the secret of three items that Dean can’t even figure out himself, and then it’ll leave him like everyone else did.

Dean looks over at his phone, contemplating calling Sam to wish him a Merry Christmas and maybe see how he and that girl, Jess, are doing. He wants Sam to be happy, but he also wants him with Dean, trying to find Dad instead of mentioning things that Dean wants to ignore. He doesn’t want to be here, alone again, for another dismal, dark, and snowy Christmas and New Year’s. Some part of him wants to tell Sam about what happened, about his death, about what he saw, about the angel with him. But other parts of Dean are still angry at him for leaving the way he did, for taking Dad’s demand that he leave and not return as _Dean’s_ demand, for shooting him down like he did when Dean stopped by, the first time he’d seen Sam in four years.

He’s still angry that Sam told him what Dad said about Sam to the other Hunters they knew, but Dean hadn’t gotten the balls to ask Pastor Jim or anyone else about because it would just be a confirmation that Dad...that he would do something like that to his own son, cut him off from resources he might actually _need_. Of course Sam would tell Dean that out of spite, while Dad would keep silent, because if it was anyone’s fault for any of this, it was Dean’s.

It explains why when he calls Dad’s phone and actually gets an answer as opposed to the usual disconnect or failure to reach, the voicemail has Sam’s name and number on it to call for help, and not Dean’s. Dad trusted Sam over Dean, despite everything else. He trusted that Sam and his new group could find and kill the monsters when he didn’t trust Dean to do the same thing. After Colorado, there had been no new coordinates, no new clues, nothing. Dean was given the ghosts, Sam was given the trust.

That Dad doesn’t trust Dean at all must means he _knows_. He knows that Dean can’t do anything useful, and he’s thrown him aside, to be the toy of Angels and Demons while Dad and Sam go after the thing that killed Mom.

_DAMNIT!_

Dean leans down, shaking and holding back his tears, feeling one roll down his cheek as he clenches his fists, his skin feeling stretched as the heat inside of him rises once more. A painful and constant reminder of what he is now, of what’s keeping him stitched together for the next year, and what he’s been told to do.

_Remember, Dean. Paper burns quicker than wax. Don’t burn yourself out._

“Why can’t I just be enough that they’d make sure I’m ok?”

He has to go home. He has to go to Lawrence.

\--

Castiel arrives, invisible and silent, in time to see the odd glow in Dean’s skin before he lets out his choked, sad question to the room he believes is empty. Castiel can’t figure out what the glow is, but he dislikes seeing it in Dean, especially since it’s becoming more and more prevalent. He has yet to tell Dean about his watching him during these hours, when he believes he’s alone, but Castiel feels justified in this lie. Dean barely trusts him to help unless he realizes there is danger to others, and Castiel’s quick work of the damned spirit had only resulted in more quiet from Dean. It disheartens Castiel and his hope for figuring out more. In the month he’s known Dean, though, the other man’s dislike of him as a ‘thing’ is only outweighed by his natural wish to be with someone, and Castiel has found himself doing what little Dean asks of him simply because he enjoys seeing Dean start to relax and enjoy himself fully.

The feeling is odd, one that he frowns at as he allows his wings to flap loudly, announcing his presence. The glow remains after Dean starts to lean back, surprised when he sees Castiel standing in the middle of the room. What Castiel had assumed was simply a natural part of a soul now appears to be a byproduct of the paper given by the candle-god, something that is hiding whatever it is about Dean’s soul that the other three had seen, and that Heaven’s library is lacking information about.

That is another thing that worries Castiel. While Balthazar has easily infiltrated the Hunter’s community, almost laughingly easily, Heaven’s information on Dean and his threefold purpose are silent. It gives Castiel little to go on beyond what he finds on his own on Earth, which means his assignment becomes more and more personal, and he’s spending more and more time with Dean.

He doesn’t quite know how he feels about it.

“What are you doing here? I thought you went back up to Heaven. Big birthday or whatever.”

“Angels do not celebrate the birth of Jesus,” Castiel tells him simply, getting Dean to sit up a bit and watch him before Castiel finally asks, “Were you searching for another case?

Dean looks surprised before letting out a sigh. “I...yeah. I think I found one, but...it’s a bit hard to say.” He shifts to one of the beds, looking at Castiel, then down before saying, “I need to go back and deal with something in...at home, but that’ll...be hard for me. I’d...rather you not come along.”

Castiel frowns, looking over at him in some confusion. “What do you mean?”

Dean haltingly, quietly says, “This is about the place that started everything...and...I want to go back so I can get some...some closure or...I dunno, something. Maybe just...know that it’s still there, or figure out what I’m supposed to do. I’m not exactly being given orders anymore.” He sounds almost bitter. “I just...have what little there is to go on, and...I should...I should go and see my...I should go to Lawrence.”

Castiel listens intently before asking, “Do you truly not want me along on this?”

“I…” Dean shakes his head. “Shit, man, I don’t know. You’re a freakin’ angel who just wants to get something out of me, or out of the wager or deal or whatever you assholes did for my soul. I don’t know how to...and...and this is personal for me, and hard. I don’t know if I want you there or not.” He lets out a breath. “I’m going after New Year’s, a few days from now. I should go now, but…” he shakes his head, reaching to rub at his chest. “I think if I go now, it’ll just end badly. And I won’t get there until New Year’s anyway. What’s the point then?”

Castiel watches Dean look at his phone, as if willing it to ring. “You are waiting for a call.”

Dean looks back down and then up at Castiel. “I’m not getting the call, though. All I am is a poker piece. No one cares about that unless it wins you something big.”

Castiel frowns at the analogy. “You are a person, and we are doing our best to ensure your soul is not left to demons, who may corrupt it, or the pagan gods that will taint and corrupt themselves, and thus taint and ruin their realms and those in it. If we did not care--.”

“You wouldn’t be wasting your time on me, even if you _did_ care,” Dean yells suddenly, cutting Castiel off, his anger suddenly bubbling over enough that Castiel once more sees the odd burning that should be Dean’s soul, igniting all throughout his body, “Not unless I was special somehow. You’d have watched those gods take me away and gone back to dicking around in Heaven. Or you’d just shrug and say that I deserved what came from whatever else happened to me. If it wasn’t the Wendigo, it’d be something else, and none of your feathered asses would come down to give me or anyone else mercy! You didn’t care for us when she said you would, you didn’t care any other time, why should I believe a word you say? At least the…” Dean suddenly sways, as if the burst of anger had taken out all of his energy, and Castiel blinks when he sees it.

In the center of Dean’s chest is a flower-shaped cutout, the edges burning like the sun. It’s like a paper lantern, and inside, finally, he sees a brief glimpse of Dean’s soul.

“A...at least...those gods you hate...are _here_ , and _try..._ even if...even...”

Castiel moves forward just as he sees the light change, catching Dean as he pitches forward and easily supporting him, the half-conscious man panting as a voice clucks in disapproval. “You were warned about this, Dean. I can only help out with one part, and only this once, but after this it’ll be worse.” Castiel turns, wings flaring out as the golden waxed figure of the Candlemaker looks at him, the book near him floating and aggressive looking, pages flapping. The god looks at Castiel warily, finally waving a hand, the sheets moving away easily before he tells Castiel, “Put him down, man, I need him resting to patch this.”

Dean is still panting, breath sounding wet and horrible, and though Castiel attempts to push his own healing Grace through him to ensure Dean’s recovery, it only seems to fix his outside body. His soul...Castiel can barely see it, let alone figure out what is wrong.

“You’re using the wrong mojo for that,” the Candlemaker says with some annoyance, once more pointing to the bed as the book near him flaps and hits its covers and papers together with a harsh sound. “I’ll let you stick around, see what will help.”

“Your date is not today.”

He looks at Castiel for a long moment before letting out a sigh. “Just put him down and let me fix this. You and yours already messed him up enough.”

Anger and curiosity war before curiosity wins, though Castiel knows he still glares at the pagan god as he lays Dean down on the bed, noting his pale color and sweat-soaked brow. “What do you mean?”

The Candlemaker looks over at Castiel for a moment before he moves to the other side of the bed. The book opens and closes swiftly, like it was talking to him, causing the Candlemaker to sigh, stroking his cloud beard near the stone necklace he wore. “Before, a soul was a soul was a soul. All of them were created and kept in the Well of Souls that keeps the realms connected. A soul’s length was set, the wick burned easily in it’s own time, and everything was in the Book and without problems. Things started to change, and we noticed it. We noticed it with ones we set up as wagers, and we noticed it when some of the candles blew out, despite their wicks being long, or stayed alive long after their wicks were supposed to sputter out. Your push for this war has caused imbalance, and he,” the Candlemaker points to Dean, moving a hand over his chest, “is a part of that.”

“Then why save him?”

The pagan god is quiet before he shrugs. “Some lives are worth saving. Some of them accept the fate they get, even when it’s not their own. He’s…” another pause and quiet, the book near him shifting before the god finally touches Dean’s chest, the representation of Dean’s soul appearing before them, causing Castiel to blink in awe, realization, and confusion.

The candle that held Dean’s light had formed a huge sphere of wax around the light it was supposed to show. It wasn’t the paper that had obsured Castiel’s view of it, it was the container that measured Dean’s life. In the circled and twisted wax were deep, painful-looking cuts and pulls, all of it solidified around the precious cargo it carried but also worked to smother or hide. It was no wonder to Castiel that they’d never fully seen Dean’s shine as the Righteous Man.

“Dean’s life follows a painful narrative, one that causes him to smother himself for the sake of being a Vessel and a breaker of that first Seal,” the Candlemaker says to Castiel as he works on the burned paper, “He feels easily, but so much of it has built up, when it’s released, the emotions and fire isn’t going to be easy. It’s going to pop out and do exactly what you just saw.”

Castiel only sees the paper, blank of any notes or marks, save the marigold designs inlaid within it, before the soul returns to Dean’s body. There’s little improvement, save for Dean being unconscious, as the pagan god tells Castiel, “You were sent here to get the downlow on the items, huh?”

“My garrison was there when you resurrected him. We have been tasked with gaining the information.”

The Candlemaker is quiet, thinking, before he tells Castiel, “Go with him to Lawrence. You will be needed there. It’s the start, not the end, of what he needs for that, and if you follow him to the end, you’ll get your answer.”

Castiel looks surprised at him, finally asking, “Why tell me this?”

The candle-god gives him a large smile before saying, “Because you were ready to heal him, even when you couldn’t. Because you listened, even through your own prejudices. And…” a shrug, “that life you took out was one that was not supposed to be there. It’s a leftover from another place, another thread you might have carried. It gave itself up just so you could be in that form, and by Dean’s side. Whatever else there is, I know when things are meant to be.” He motions to Dean again. “Take care of him. He might get mad at you, but it won’t get that bad again unless it’s someone trying to erase his story.”

Before Castiel can ask about that, the candle-god and its book disappear, leaving him alone with the fitful, shaking, and dreaming Dean.

\--

It takes longer than Castiel would like for Dean to fully recover, and by then it’s obvious that the pagan gods are allowing Dean to see what is going on, or at least keeping him in-touch with it. Dean is unhappy with Castiel and silent through the change of the year, but finally breaks a day after the huge, loud celebration the night before.

“My...my mom said that angels are watching over us. It...it was the…” he swallows, then finally continues, “it was the last thing she said to me...before the fire.”

Castiel blinks, uncertain of what to say to something so personal that obviously carries so much weight. A thing that Dean remembers, that he associates with _protection,_ but now, not by angels. Instead, in Dean’s mind, it is associated with a failure, a lie, the first lie ever told to him that he understands.

Castiel has no answer for that, instead telling Dean, “We couldn’t help, then. I will, now...if you’ll let me. Whatever is going to happen, or will happen, in your childhood home, it sounds like someone you trust, even a little, will be helpful in that place.”

Dean slowly nods, and looks up at Castiel with emotional, scared green eyes. “I never wanted to go back. I swore I wouldn’t. But if it is something, if there is something there...I can’t ignore it. I have to make sure it’s _safe_. I can’t let anyone else go through that.”

Castiel walks forward slowly, so he’s standing where Dean is looking up at him from his seated position, wary but trusting. Castiel wishes he knows why it is that Dean has, over the course of less than a month, begun to trust him so much. All that Castiel saw of his soul was one that was ill-used, ill-treated, to where such trust should not be possible. Instead, it seems to reach out to Castiel, and he supposes it simply recognizes his Grace from that failed attempt to heal it before the candle-god had calmed it and reformed the blank, burnt paper around it.

“You have been exhausted and had nightmares. I can ensure you sleep dream-free, and I will stay here to watch over you during that time. But only if you want.”

Dean is quiet, looking up at Castiel still, before he finally nods. “I need it, for the days ahead.”

Castiel moves his two fingers over Dean’s forehead, and ensures he is comfortable and lying down afterwards. He thinks to Balthazar, seeing how he is doing, and frowns when he hears the news.

_When will Sam be there?_

**_Soon. They’re wrapping up a case here as best he can, while also having some other odd dreams, about another child like him._** Balthazar is quiet before stating, **_Azazel is growing the power of his little tainted brats. I looked in on the boy we’re going to go and see...he’s ripe for the dark side._**  An annoyed paused follows, before Balthazar’s voice comes back, sounding almost petulant. **_Cassie, I don’t like this. I’ve been here too long, I’m starting to_ feel _for the mud monkeys._**

Castiel ignores the whining and looks over at Dean’s sleeping form. _If you can, have Sam call Dean and schedule a time for them both to be at that house where it began. I have a feeling that this is important...for both of them._

**_Are you any closer to at least getting one of the items?_ **

_I think so...but we must get them into that house first before I know for sure. It’s tied to it, somehow, as is his family and how they have treated him._ He doesn’t think about the opaque wax or the blank paper with a marigold cutout. He doesn’t think about the trust that Dean has given him, and how Castiel somehow wants to live up to that.

Dean needs to be saved, so that he might be in Heaven. Castiel would deal with everything else, would do his best, and make sure that he survived the next three years. That was his duty, but he also feels he should do this so he could show the three pagan gods the error of their ways.

Dean belongs to Heaven. Castiel will make sure he gets there.

_\--_

Dean dreams, and remembers hearing the sound of wings flapping and smelling sulfur on the air. He remembers feeling the pain from where the Wendigo hit him before, the cracked or broken rib that had ended his life as he felt himself bleed out internally, choking on his own blood and watching the group run for help, to the main road and away from the abandoned mine he’d been left to die in.

Dean remembers he’d been fine with it, because without him, Sam would have to deal with Dad, and Dad could be proud of Sam again. He remembers when he woke up again, he saw a woman with a white painted face, like those guys in the Southwest during this time of year, and a man with a beard made of clouds, a soft glow on his face. The final one was a monster, dark and smelling like a newly tarred road, with lime green eyes that had skulls inside instead of pupils. They each introduced themselves to Dean, and explained what is going on. They explained what he needs to do, and who is supposed to come and find him.

They never mentioned the angel who looks like a tax accountant. After having to get the Candlemaker to ‘fix’ him, because he’d finally blow up at Cas for everything, because it became too much to hold in, Dean thinks he can trust Cas with what little he does.

He’s not expecting to find, after waking up from the best sleep he’s had in _years_ , probably _decades_ , Castiel sitting near him, watching over him like he’d promised. He’s even more surprised when Castiel tells him that Sam will be at their house when Dean goes there as well.

“What? Did he call?” Dean looks at his phone, but there are no new texts and no missed calls.

“No. I asked a fellow angel to watch over him as well, and he says that Sam has been having...visions...of things to come. This one and another are troubling him at the moment, and Sam will be at the house in January as well.” Dean doesn’t like where this is going, but does his best to stay focused. Trying to escape from the bad thoughts only lead to him nearly burning himself out again. The way Cas says it, it’s not an ultimatum, it’s just a simple fact. Dean’s more troubled by the idea of Sam having visions, that something has made him...different, even though Dean’s known enough psychics that get help or help out Hunters. That doesn’t stop some of them from being assholes and claiming all of them as some sort of evil or perversion of nature. The psychics stay safe so long as they’re vetted...but not always. Dean’s gone to at least one psychic who got killed by an overzealous Hunter, when there had been a lull in things to go after. Dean had given her a proper burial, and told Dad.

Dad had told Dean to pack up, and they’d found another psychic instead. Dad never told them what happened to that first one, and glared when Dean tried to warn them. Dean hoped that psychic had picked up on Dean’s thoughts, and kept himself safe.

“You want me to and coordinate things with him.”

Castiel is quiet but says, “I wish for you and your brother to be there at the same time, yes. How that happens is up to you. It is not something I wish to dictate. I only believe, that as that house is both your starting point on this journey, as well as his, that it would be best if you end your time there with each other.” Dean wishes that Cas didn’t have to make such a good fucking point about it, but at least they can agree, and Dean knows of at least one or two other cases he can take between here and Lawrence that will, at least, distract him from what’s going on.

“I...I’ll think about it.”

\--

_Lawrence, Kansas_

_January 6, 2006_

It is snowing, and the tree Dean remembered, the one that Dad promised they’d have a treehouse in when Dean was old enough, is empty of leaves. The ‘for sale’ sign with ‘Pending’ above it makes him worry, and for the first time, Dean wishes that Cas was here to tell him what was going on. He hasn’t seen the Angel in a few days, and with Sam coming, with them going back to their old _house_...he’s burning again, and it takes a lot for Dean to calm himself down.

He manages to get back into the Impala before he looks at his phone again, considering Dad’s phone number that glows on the screen. He knows that Sam is probably at the hotel by now, has gotten a room with his girl and friend, and Dean almost wishes he had someone as well. He got confirmation from Cas that Sam was still using the same pattern they’d set up when they were children, after Dean had started Hunting more and more often with Dad. It means he can at least go and see where he is, finally _talk_ to him.

He wishes Dad would answer his phone calls. Especially this one.

Dean tosses the phone into the glove compartment and drives. He doesn’t know how long his little brother has been here, or what he’s found out. Dean only knows that they probably have to do this together.

“Hello Dean,” Cas’ voice startles him, but he manages to keep the Impala on the road and doesn’t curse at the Angel for his sudden appearance out loud.

“I’m going to put a bell on you, I swear,” Dean mutters, letting out a sigh as he drives to the hotel, “You were gone for a bit.”

“I was called back to Heaven,” Castiel tells him simply, looking forward, “they were unhappy about my lack of progress.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like you can figure out the things without any references, and everything can be looked at differently. Some people see signs in everything. Other times a cigar is just a cigar.”

“A cigar was not one of the items.”

Dean sighs. “It’s a saying, Cas. It means that there isn’t some hidden meaning in something, it’s just whatever the thing actually is.”

Cas glances at Dean, his sharp eyes lingering on Dean for a long time before he says, “I don’t think they are simply what they seem to be, though.”

“It’s a blank page from the Book of Life. It means there’s nothing written on it, and now there won’t be,” Dean argues back, wishing that Cas hadn’t seen whatever he’d seen. “What else are you looking for? A blank page is just that - empty space. There, you can go to Heaven and tell them that.”

Cas is quiet, and Dean feels his gaze, the steady, neutral look that had no other qualities but one of maybe curiosity and confusion, actually working to calm him a bit. It’s weird, how calm he is around Cas after just a few weeks. That the angel’s presence, his gentle understanding and wish to _help_ , despite everything, makes Dean feel...well, it makes him feel less alone, even if the Angel was just a thing trying to get control of his soul.

The reminder sours Dean’s mood when he gets to the hotel, seeing a black Dodge Charger outside and frowning at the newer muscle car that was probably Sammy’s car. It isn’t as nice as Dean’s own Impala, but then again, Sammy always went for his newer stuff over the classics. He looks over at the door with the signs of a Hunter staying in it, swallowing it and drawing in a breath. “Cas...are you staying with me on this?”

“If you wish,” Cas says, his voice calming and concerned, “you’re glowing again.”

“I’m worried, and angry,” Dean mutters, having already felt the signs that apparently Cas saw as him ‘glowing’, “so yeah, I might need someone to warn me if things get too bad. I don’t know...how bad things’ll get.”

Cas doesn’t say anything, but follows Dean to the door and into the room after the blond woman, Jess, opens the door with a surprised look before she moves, letting Sam see who it is with equal surprise.

Unlike the last time he saw Sam, when he was unhappy with Dean’s presence and questions, this time Sam stands and moves quickly to embrace him, the hug going on for almost too long in Dean’s mind. He starts to protest just as Sam lets him go, then frowns when he spots Cas. “Who’s that?”

“A friend,” Dean says, not wanting to introduce Cas as anything but, and he feels Cas’ eyes on him again. “I’m Hunting too, and you’re running around with your friends, I can’t Hunt with mine?”

Sam looks annoyed at that, but instead lets out a breath to calm himself. “I was just...concerned, Dean. The Hunters who got to Colorado after you left heard...something disturbing. It wasn’t until we knew you’d taken care of that spirit haunting the lake that...that…” Sam swallows, and Dean realizes how it must have sounded, considering he hadn’t gone to see the group he’d saved, that their last sight of him had been at the bottom of the mine shaft, with a spent flare gun and watching them run to safety while he--.

“Well, I’m fine,” Dean says, “and we’re not here for that.” He sees both Jess and Sam look at him worriedly, but he feels fine about deflecting. Telling Sam about what happened, about what Cas is, would probably just make things worse when they needed to focus on the job. He could explain later, after it all ended. It might be the worse thing to do, but it wouldn’t give Sam enough time to try to stew about his part in it. “There’s something in our old house, Sam.”

Sam slowly nods, sitting down and motioning for Dean and Cas to do the same. “I know. I...it clicked after I found an old picture.” He looks nervous, but Jess’ comforting hand gets him to finally spill about his reason for being so harsh to Dean, about his visions and nightmares, and that they’d come here to make sure his current one - of a woman in fear, of a tree on fire while snow covered the ground - didn’t happen. Dean’s a bit surprised they’d only gotten here yesterday, but doesn’t question it. If Sam and Jess were on the road, it would easily explain it - apparently winter break for them was fighting monsters.

Dean shifts as Sam explains what little they know about the house from records – it was refinished after the fire, Dad had never moved back in, but he had gone in with someone once before putting the house up for sale. Dean fills in with what he remembers, choking a bit as he talks, trying to focus and think about it more like a job, a case, instead of them looking into _their home_ , the house where mom had _died_. He blinks when Sam asks one question, and only one. “You carried me out?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, looking up and frowning, “You didn’t know that?”

Sam slowly shakes his head, making Dean realize how little Dad allowed him to tell Sam, how little he’d allowed himself to tell Sam, about their past. All that there had been was photos and a vague idea of what Mom was, of what she’d meant, and Dean can understand why Sam would only view her as just an image that Dad and Dean pushed for him to venerate and believe in.

Cas’ hand on his shoulder calms him, and Dean swallows before he finishes up what little he remembers – Dad had worked at a garage and sold his half to his partner, had put the money and everything into going off to learn about the monsters, and they had met Pastor Jim, Caleb, and the others. Caleb was more a guy who sold them weapons, no questions asked, and knew little of monsters. Pastor Jim had cared for them briefly while teaching Dad about spirits and other things. Dad had taught Dean, had told him to care for Sam and keep him safe, and then as Sam began to notice things, he told Dean to keep Sam ‘pure’, to keep him from realizing what they did, and to make sure he knew that Mom loved them and, after Sam learned the truth, it was now the information that Mom had died, and they would avenge her.

Sam had figured things out on his own, the smart kid he was, and that had been the beginning of Sam’s disillusionment and anger at Dad, at his sudden push to be ‘normal’. Now, with the woman he wanted to be ‘normal’ with here, with Sam having to create his own network of Hunters to talk to and help out instead of falling back on Dad’s own…it’s hard to see, and Dean hates that he couldn’t help him out.

A light squeeze is enough to get Dean to breathe, to release the horrible feeling that was building, and he relaxes, the heated feeling cooling with Cas’ worry, while Sam watches with a strange look in his eye. “We should talk to the partner,” Dean mutters, “and get into the house. It’s about to be sold, and if someone…if they do get in…”

“We know the person to talk to,” Sam says, the statement so final and serious that it almost surprises Dean, “It took a bit, but Jess has a copy of Dad’s journal. We found her, the one who told Dad about the supernatural, and about Mom’s death. We’re going to see her tomorrow, so we can make sure whatever is in there doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

Dean sees Jess nod, and some part of him relaxes in a way he hadn’t realized he’d been tense about. Sam is still Sammy to Dean, still a kid that he had to care for, had to watch over…but he has someone else who can do this. He sees that with how Jess looks at Sammy with love and devotion. He knows that because Bobby had cared for them and for all that Dad hated the the gruff man, he’d loved Dean and loves Sam. He knows that Bobby would be able to care for Sammy, and that care was what Sam needed right now. Whoever else was on this list of Sam’s network, he’d created a family that got him healthy and _safe_. Dean could tell Sam after this case what _actually_ happened, but until this was done, he had to focus on their house, on destroying whatever was there.

\--

The psychic called Missouri Mosley comes shortly after Dean and Cas arrive, hemming at Dean for various things while seeming to praise Sam for his ‘good behavior’, even though this was their hotel room. Castiel can understand why it is that John Winchester didn’t learn much from her beyond the knowledge of vengeful and restless ghosts – she is a psychic with little power, only able to see some supernatural things, and while he can tell she knows he’s powerful, he also can see she views him as simply a more powerful or better trained psychic than herself, and she doesn’t even acknowledge Sam’s blossoming psychic power, demon-taint that it might be or not.

It’s annoying that she looks at Dean and instead of realizing his fate, or what might have happened to him, she simply belittles him. Castiel wants to argue that they should go to the house and simply deal with things without her help – even if Sam’s powers are from the blood of Azazel, it is a power that Sam is doing his best to focus on good, on finding others who need his help and not on selfish things. Castiel’s own power, even if he uses the bare minimum of his Grace, would be enough to cleanse the house of any evil within, and seal it from further evil returning for at least a millennium.

Sam hasn’t denied his power, or backed away from the idea of how dangerous it might be. He’d seen it in the failed attempt to save one of his fellow tainted children, in what the demon had done to break apart and torment families of chosen children. Sam isn’t comfortable and overconfident in his ability like Missouri Mosley is, and Castiel nearly interrupts when she claims there isn’t anything in the house. Jess is the one who speaks up, saying innocently, “Then we can go into the house with you, and make sure of that, can’t we?”

Castiel looks at the woman whose life now has the years that Dean would have had, who should have died on the day that Dean did, and he can feel Dean’s pride in her. He understands now, Dean’s reluctance and dislike of this wager that was put up for his life. It’s obvious that Dean now looks at her as the one who will keep Sam safe, who can do all that’s needed, and this one point was enough. No matter what else happens, Dean is going to die knowing his brother is safe, and his soul is more content at that thought then it ever was when Castiel tried to tell him that at Heaven, he’d be at eternal peace, without any need to fight or resist.

Missouri looks at her with some surprise, but finally nods in agreement. “Sure, hon. I’m sure we can clear this all up in no time.”

Castiel wants to say something but manages to keep his silence as they leave, his glance at Missouri the only sign that he didn’t want her to ride with them. Castiel is caught off guard when Sam asks, “You’re psychic?” suddenly, getting the Angel to look at him. He thinks maybe he should tell Sam the truth, but as Dean seems to be waiting until the end of this to speak to Sam about it, Castiel simply says to him, “In a sense of the word, yes.”

Sam glares as Dean looks between them, finally saying, “Sam, I’ll explain it all when this is done, I promise. Let’s...let’s just make sure the house is safe, ok?”

Sam slowly, finally nods, but from his look, he doesn’t trust Castiel or his presence with Dean. Castiel can understand the hesitancy that Sam shows, let alone the worry he obviously feels for Jess. She was attacked, or was the target of an attack, and because of some change, has the duty that Dean Winchester should have had, to protect and nurture Sam Winchester.

The house is unassuming, as far as Castiel’s Human sight can see. His Angelic sight can see the malevolent force that still exists in the house, that Azazel’s taint has left from the horrific death of Mary Winchester and the Deal she made that brought this upon them. He knows that Sam can feel a connection but cannot see the evil still within, and Missouri is blind to it by her own look and casual walk to the house.

Even with his Grace pulled in close, tight within his body so it won’t react to the tainted, demonic power and destroy the home on accident, he feels another presence, one that feels oddly like Sam and Dean’s own.

Dean looks over at Castiel, obviously concerned, and Castiel shifts before saying quietly, “There is...something else here.”

Missouri looks at him with an annoyed look before she stiffens and shivers, swallowing and reaching towards a railing. “Something _awful_ is in here.”

“Is...is it…?” Dean starts, looking at Cas, then Sam and finally, Missouri.

“It’s not what I felt after your Mama died,” Missouri said, sounding concerned. “But it’s something...evil, malevolent.”

Castiel can tell it’s a particularly powerful poltergeist, but the other thing here is what confuses him. He wants to see what it is. His glance to Dean causes him to pause, allowing his vision to shift as Sam and Jess look elsewhere, watching Missouri as she tries to figure more about the poltergeist and how they can deal with it. He can easily destroy it, possibly even with the house remaining, but it’s also powered by the lingering taint that Azazel left.

Dean watches as they go upstairs, shifting and looking hesitant, as Castiel feels his Vessel’s eyes glow briefly, seeing Dean’s soul and the paper around it. He can see now...marks, like the beginning of writing, slowly flowing out from the largest marigold outline. It’s strange, and makes him blink when he notices Dean looking at him curiously.

“What?”

“The other thing here...it’s very odd, but muted under the malevolent spirit here.” He glances up to see Sam looking down on them, the frown on his face now more annoyed and angry, before Castiel motions to the stairs. Dean hesitates only briefly this time before walking up, Castiel following after him easily and mulling over what the paper might mean.

 _Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar...meaning something is only what it appears to be._ Castiel has had enough time to mull over that when Dean told him, to think on what it means, but doubts it applies here. There are too many other points to take into consideration about each item. Even one item had so many layers, and it makes Castiel realize how much is asked of them for this year.

 _“It’s a blank page from the Book of Life. That means there’s nothing written on it, and now there won’t be_ ,” Dean had said before they visited Sam, and something about it stuck with Castiel. The only information he remembers is that it was given to power the role that Dean had as the Faithful Son, as the one who remained true to his father, no matter what. Now, in this place involving family, he has marks and writing, one that will hopefully solidify and give Castiel more to go on.

The group heads into one of the bedrooms, and the miasma of tainted, demonic energy stops Castiel from entering fully. Dean looks at him curiously, but seems to understand his wish to not enter the place where Azazel was, where Mary Winchester died. Dean stays outside of the room as well, looking shaken, as Missouri walks around. Sam, because of how young he was, doesn’t seem to have the same connection that Dean does. Missouri’s weak psychic ability at least means that she knows the center area of the darkness, and explains what she can to Sam and Jess, who stand near each other, Jess holding Sam’s hand tightly. Missouri looks at Castiel, as if daring him to speak up, but he simply tilts his head at her and waits as the trio leave the room before saying, “We will need to speak outside. The spirit is restless now, but will be far more active at night if we discuss more in this house.”

Missouri nods, apparently seeing the same signs as Castiel, and the group headed out before Missouri tells them, “We need to make fetishes, and put them at the four cardinal corners of the house. It’ll purify the house…”

“More likely it will trap the spirits,” Castiel says, looking back at the house, “but that will make it easier to banish them.”

Missouri glares at him as Castiel looks back at her. “The thing which entered into Sam’s bedroom those years ago was an abomination of the highest order. That a poltergeist has taken up residence in a home so tainted means it’s power has grown exponentially. If it’s given a family to terrorize and feed off of, the power might even reach the street, or the house next to this one. None of us can take that chance.” He doesn’t want to add that Missouri’s knowledge is watered down, that they have no priest, blessed by an Angel, to help with lowering the taint that Azazel left. As it is, just to remove such power that has seeped into the foundation from Missouri Mosely’s decision to not purify the house, from its abandonment and neglect, would mean Castiel would have to destroy it completely.

He wonders if Dean would mind that.

“So we make these things and...then what?” Dean asks, drawing Castiel’s attention. He doesn’t notice Missouri’s attempt to puff herself up at the challenge, or Sam’s distrustful look. All he sees is Dean’s concern and question, his determination, and something else that gets Castiel to focus on Dean alone.

Dean is afraid for the new owners of the home, and he is afraid because he could have returned, he could have done _something_ , and didn’t. He blames himself for the state of the house, and it only serves to tear at the wax around his soul, to create more darkening, burnt spots on the blank page around it.

Castiel’s eyes lock onto Dean’s, and he wants to tell Dean that this isn’t his fault - he was too young, and too hurt, to have managed this on his own. Instead, he says, “I know a spell. It will force the spirit of least malice to appear, and from there, we may cleanse the house. It will no longer be a focus for evil spirits, and the other one trapped inside will be freed to go where it must, to its final reward.”

Some part of Castiel wants it to be Heaven, so Dean’s fear of the place will be taken. But for now, he must focus on ensuring the spirits are trapped, that he can call up the gentler one without destroying the home, and that whatever is appearing on the blank page that covers Dean’s soul will become clearer.

\--

“I don’t trust him,” Sam is vocal the moment Castiel leaves to get something as he, Dean, and Jess work on the bags that Missouri is directing them to make. Dean thinks he’s going to speak to the other angel he mentioned, the one he claimed was following Sam and Jess around, but he figures he can ask Cas about it later.

“That boy is indeed a strange one,” Missouri says, looking at Dean with knowing eyes that make him look down and focus on work. “Where’d you pick him up?”

“After a case. He...took some getting used to.” Dean mutters, disliking the attention and hating that Sam is judging Cas so harshly. Yeah, Dean didn’t trust that Brady guy, or Jess, with Sam’s safety, but now he does because he’s seen how good Sam looks. Sam is back to Hunting, and he’s _safe_ with them. What more could Dean ask for?

But nope, Dean can’t have friends outside of the family, it looks like.

“I ain’t never seen no person like him. He’s radiatin’ colors of all sorts.”

“And since when did you trust anyone outside of the family?” Sam asks, annoyed as Jess gave him a look that Sam ignores in favor of waiting for Dean’s answer, his look the same that he always gave Dean when they’d had to leave school again, or when Dean took Dad’s side in an argument.

Or on the day Sam left and Dean tried to get him to stay, and instead Sam stormed out.

“Since that family decided I don’t get to be part of it,” Dean growls out, nearly slamming his hand on the table. _Fuck_ , he was starting to burn up again. He never should have come to Sam for help with this, fucking Candlemaker be damned.

Sam starts at that, surprised and obviously upset by the outburst and reminder as Dean stands, leaving his finished bag behind while he grabs his coat. “Dean, it’s not...I…”

“You had your priorities,” Dean mutters, “and they didn’t include me. They never do. So you don’t get to question it if someone actually gives a shit about what _I_ do and who _I_ trust comes into the picture. Not when all you’ve done is give me shit for not trusting _your_ friends unconditionally.”

“Boy, don’t you start talkin’ to your brother like that when he--.”

“He was going to come here anyway,” Dean growls at Missouri, suddenly tired of the psychic’s constant argument with _him,_ her distrust of Cas and what she represented of Dad’s decision to take them and Hunt. “And _you_ claimed you watched over the house, so why the _fuck_ weren’t these,” he points to the fetish, “put in earlier, huh? Or did you think that just leaving it alone was a good idea?” He turns and storms out, not listening as Sam tries to call after him, and not bothering to slam the door. Heat is building up again and he knows that he won’t get someone to help out with him if he burns up this time around.

 _Damnit_. Sam knew just how to rile him up, and Dean was an idiot for allowing that to happen. For allowing himself to trust Cas enough that he’d defend him over Sam.

_Most important.../Watch out for Sammy._

“Dean,” Cas’ voice, a hand on his shoulder, and suddenly coolness washes over him, calming him. It makes Dean blink as he looks back at Cas, confusion in his eyes. The Angel doesn’t seem confused, but he does look pleased with himself, and Dean frowns. “What the hell was that?”

“I was present when the Candlemaker helped you earlier,” Cas replies, offering a small smile, “I saw what he did, and how he calmed the burning page. I am simply trying what I saw, but with my own power.”

Dean lets out a snort and smiles again, looking down. “Thanks.”

“What brought this on?”

Dean glances up at Cas, wondering how much he could tell him, before Sam opens the door and stops short, looking at the two with confusion and a myriad of other emotions. Cas frowns at him as Dean looks at his little brother, seeing how upset he is with their closeness. Some part of Dean was getting upset at himself for storming out, for not taking Sammy’s worries into consideration, and he shifts a bit, turning but still with Cas’ hand on his shoulder. “Sam, listen man, I know you--.”

“What happened in Colorado?” Sam demands, stalking up to them. “That camping party you saved reported you as _dead_ , Dean. I had to learn you were alive from one of my contacts, and even then they weren’t fucking sure. And if he’s just a damned psychic, I’m…”

“I said I’d tell you after this is done, and I will,” Dean tells him, interrupting Sam and getting the patented bitch-face he always got when no one would explain things to him. “I’m not going to explain it when we’re in the middle of a fucking job, Sam. That’s how people get hurt.”

Sam looks ready to argue, but instead casts a glare at Cas, like this is _his_ fault, and stalks back into the room. Dean lets out a breath before Castiel says simply, “He is worried about you.”

“If he was so worried, he could’ve called when he thought I was dead,” Dean mutters, finally moving away from Cas’ hand. “At least gotten confirmation. I would’ve told him all of it, then. Now…” he sighs and looks at something in the empty back seat of his car. “It’s gotta wait.” He glances at Cas. “Why did you say we had to trap it? Why not...do whatever you did with the other ghost?”

“That one was tied to a single silver object. Destroying the object destroyed the presence, but overall it was contained to a degree. The being that tainted your house left its mark in the very foundation. To destroy that, the poltergeist, and calm the other spirit enough to grant it peace or destroy its presence would mean destroying the house to that same foundation, and all of the roots that have spread. It would not be pretty.”

Dean lets out a sigh. He should’ve figured that was the reason why. “Any progress on your actual job?”

Cas is quiet, tilting his head at Dean, and he shifts at the look. He hates that look, but at the same time as enjoys the attention. He hates what Cas says next.

“It is not a job, Dean, it is what I am. I am an Angel of the Lord, it is my duty to ensure you are given your peace in Heaven, that you remain out of Hell’s grasp or that of the hold of the pagan gods you so wrongly believe wish to help you. Whatever else is part of me learning that, so that this foolish wager will be won, and so you can be given your reward and do the work you were destined for.”

Dean is silent after that, knowing none of the others heard it, and looks down, unable to look Cas in the eye. He forgets, sometimes, that Cas is just a monster, a thing, wearing a man’s body. He forgets that he’s a monster who happens to be fighting the things that probably killed Mom.

He forgets that Cas isn’t his friend, he’s just a thing that wants ownership of his tattered, stupid, somehow worth-something soul.

“Yeah. Didn’t answer my question,” Dean quietly mutters, still not looking at Cas. He can see the body that the angel’s using, and he briefly wonders if Cas has any remorse for the life he took and ruined just so he could walk around and look like people.

Cas is too quiet, as if Dean being upset is confusing to him, and finally says, “I am uncertain. After tonight...I might know. But I doubt it.”

Dean lets out a snort before nodding. “We should get back in. I don’t want Sam to get the wrong idea.”

Cas says nothing, but follows Dean back into the small hotel room. Missouri glares at Cas and looks ready to ask something, but is cut short as he looks over the completed bag with obvious disdain before finally saying, “We will have to work fast if we wish to not be hurt by the spirit. The spell can be prepared quickly after that. It will try to focus its attack on either the kitchen or the bedroom where the taint began.”

Sam looks uncomfortable at the description, and Dean muses that he probably thinks the description applies to not just the thing that killed Mom, but Sam as well. He hopes that doesn’t make the truth Dean will have to tell him after this is all done all the more hard to hear.

\--

The poltergeist fights hard to remain powerful, and pulling the tainted power into the house only makes it pause in its attack long enough for Jess and Missouri to escape before the attack suddenly increases in strength and ferocity. Dean is near where Cas stands, preparing the spell in Enochian, as Sam lets out a yell when he’s tossed through the kitchen, the poltergeist manifesting and trying to fight Castiel’s build of Grace.

He stops when he finally, fully, feels the other spirit, seeing Dean raise his shotgun at it, the move to protect Sam, just as Sam yells, “No, don’t! Don’t, Dean!”

“What? Why?”

“Because I can see her now,” Sam’s voice is suddenly full of the same sadness that Castiel has heard from Dean, and the Angel turns to look, spell still ready as he sees it too.

A burning figure, the fire lost and revealing a woman with blond hair, feathered and curled, in a white dress. Dean lowers and nearly drops his firearm when he sees her. In Castiel’s Grace-fueled vision, the blank page is filled on one side, with a house, and a woman, and writing that Castiel is hard pressed to read.

“Mom?”

“Dean,” she speaks, touching his face. Some part of Dean’s soul heals at the touch, and she looks over at the pinned younger son, “Sam. I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Sam asks quietly, sadly, as Mary turns to look at Castiel. He blinks as he sees her, knowing she has an inkling of what he is, but also seeing what she is as a spirit, and that she, like Dean...has no destination. She is not destined for Heaven and it’s reward. She allowed in a demon but lead a righteous life. She is Remembered...but her family are Forgotten. She is alone, and she knows she is alone...and thus will destroy the poltergeist and the demon’s presence by destroying herself.

“Let me do this,” she tells him, softly but with an authority that makes him stop when he moves to restart the spell and release her from such a fate, “I let it in. I will take it out.”

“Mom…” Dean’s voice is choked and Castiel says to her, not understanding at all, “But if I do this, you will know peace and your final reward. I will ensure you are taken there, even if I must deliver you myself. Please...you can’t want to lose that.”

She looks at him curiously, sadly, and smiles at him the same way she smiled at Dean and Sam. “This is my reward. I will save them from this one last thing, and I will be at peace when I do that. Nothing Heaven can offer will compare.”

Mary Winchester turns before Castiel can speak or act, can pull up his Grace in a way that will save her soul and the house without destroying it, and he hears her proclaim to the remaining darkness, to the poltergeist holding Sam frozen, “ _YOU. Get out of my house, and LET GO OF MY SON!_ ”

Her soul becomes bright, white-hot flame, and she flies into the house, the foundation, the _essence_ of it, before spreading. The poltergeist dies as she does, but the house is cleansed so completely it leaves Castiel momentarily speechless. Sam looks at him, confusion and questions and sadness warring in his eyes, while Dean simply looks gutted. Castiel draws in a breath when he looks at Dean, and sees that the page was now burnt, barely holding on, and all but destroyed.

No...that page had shown this house, his mother, it had had _writing_ on it. Why was it burned now? What had caused it to burn?

\--

Castiel doesn’t perform his spell, but he appears upset and confused over what he’s seen. Missouri proclaims the house spirit-free, and Dean stands near the Impala, looking quiet and sad. Sam can’t blame him, not after what happened…

Sam swallows tightly as Jess holds onto his arm, supporting him. Seeing Mom, even as a spirit, and _hearing_ her voice, is so different from the photo. He has a tangible thing, now, something that he knows as _Mom_ , and to see her sacrifice her soul like that...it’s no wonder Castiel and Dean are still quiet about it, still obviously upset and trying to figure things out.

Sam thanks Missouri for her help, watches her leave in her economical car, and finally walks over to where Dean is, Castiel nearby and still looking like he isn’t sure, before he asks Dean, “You said you’d tell me.”

“Sam,” Jess says, sounding wary, but he pushes on. He needs to _know_ what’s going on with Dean, what Castiel really is, why he said those things about a final reward, what he was doing and what spell he was saying. He can’t leave this for the hotel, or later, or whenever Dean thought he was ready. Sam’s ready for whatever truth there is, and he’s not about to let Dean use some excuse to get out of it.

“You said after the job was done, you’d tell me. It’s done, now tell me what happened in Colorado.”

Dean is still silent, a box of photos they’d found in the basement by him on the Impala’s hood, waiting to be divided and put into trunks of cars before they leave. Sam wants to know what happened to Dean to get him in with such a man as Castiel, and what he’s so afraid to tell Sam.

Dean finally speaks, and it’s not what Sam wants to hear.

“I died.” His words don’t waver, and his eyes are serious as Dean looks up at Sam, freezing him in place even before he registers what Dean said. “In Colorado, I died at the bottom of that mine shaft. I took the Wendigo down, got the civvies to safety, and I held on long enough to see the last one run before I died. Then, I woke up, because I...I’m special enough to warrant a quick second chance.”

Sam swallows, his insides freezing at that, and he looks at Castiel then back to Dean. “He…”

“He didn’t raise me, Sam. He’s just here to help me out for the time I got left.”

Some part of Sam’s brain, the part that believed in his big brother as Superman, as the one who always fixed anything - broken bones, cuts and bruises, Dad’s neglect, a lack of food, problems at school - couldn’t take it. Another part screamed at Sam, angry at himself. _I gave him the coordinates. I didn’t go with him._

_He died alone because of me._

The anger turns on someone else, at Castiel as he stood near them, watching like some asshole stalker who claimed to be ‘helping’. How was he helping? He let Mom _die_ , this time permanently, when he could’ve done something to save her. Sam doesn’t know what, or who this man is that came into Dean’s life to ‘help’, but Sam knows he’s not helping at all. He’s not the partner that Dean needs - Sam is, and he should just join Dean in their fruitless search for Dad. Sam will keep Dean safe, not some random weirdo!

“Dean…” Sam wants to ask why he didn’t know about this earlier, but he already knows the answer. He closed that door himself, and it had only reopened a day ago, even a crack. Whatever else was going on, Sam had to take this carefully. Jess seems to understand it, speaking up and taking over for Sam and his inability to articulate his worries.

“Dean, we...how long do you have?”

“Until November 2nd of this year,” Dean tells her, matter-of-factly, like he isn’t going to _die_. “That’s all they could give me.”

“ _They?_ ” Sam asks, unable to really lean on Jess for the support he needs in the face of this information. Dean was _dying,_ and Dad, if he knew, _didn’t fucking care_.

“Three pagan gods, who are powerful between October 31st and November 2nd,” Castiel interrupts, apparently having listened and decided to take over from Dean at this point. “They have granted Dean three items, each of which will...possibly be gone...by the end of that year.” Dean, Sam, and Jess all look at him as Castiel looks at Dean, blue eyes and green eyes locked into what seems like silent communication, before Castiel says, “After your mother’s death...the blank page became permanently burned. I know you will have to search for other things, things that make up your life, but if it occurs as it did here...each will burn. They will all be gone by the end of the year.”

Silence falls heavy over the group, and Dean finally breaks it with a wet, hard, hurt-filled laugh.

“Yeah...I guessed that part. I shoulda told you, Cas, but…” he shakes his head, tears filling his eyes as he looks at Sam and Jess, then back to Castiel. “I don’t know how many other things will finish it. That’s why I gotta find Dad. Why I gotta finish this.” He let out a snort. “Last one is a flashpoint, freakin’ kindling for the fire. I’m gonna make that last one _count.”_

Sam blinks, fear at what that meant making him swallow before he says, “Dean…”

“I’m finding Dad, because then I’ll find the sonuvabitch that killed Mom, that freakin _tainted_ our house and pulled in a fucking _poltergeist_ to try to hurt others. I’m going to find it, and if I’m going up in flames, I’m taking that bastard with me.”


	3. Symbols out of Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam attempts to learn more about Castiel and his hold on Dean as Dean and Castiel begin to realize how much they really care for one another.

They somehow never get around to telling Sam what Cas really is, or that there’s another one watching over him. Sam is too upset and Jess is crying too much for Dean to do much but tell them to stop.

It doesn’t work, because no one listens to Dean. Instead they demand he come with them to look into other jobs they have, to at least be nearby, and Sam cheats by pulling out the puppy-dog eyes.

Dean finally gives in, agreeing to go investigate some disappearances in Minnesota, not wanting to point out that winter in Minnesota often means it’ll be cold and disgusting. He can guess that Sam also wants him near Bobby’s so they can swing by and then _Bobby_ can try to guilt him, but Dean is pretty sure he can leave and go on more Hunts without Sam by that point. He’s not about to have the remainder of his mortality, or the fact that his family only cares about Dean when he’s in actual danger. Dean doesn’t think about the fact that Cas is still invested in getting his soul for Heaven’s purpose or Cas’ own or whatever until they stop at a hotel, the two groups getting their own rooms for the night. He doesn’t think about it until they get inside and Cas turns a glare on him that freezes Dean faster than any glare Dad might have leveled at him. It’s now that he suddenly realizes, really realizes, how powerful Cas really is as an Angel. It’s frightening and gets roots him in his spot near the closed door, eyes downcast and terrified, as Cas growls out to him, “Do you think I’ll let you simply throw your life away over that abomination? Do you think I will let it get _near_ you when your soul is on the line? When all Hell wants is to get hold of you and destroy what you are?” Cas stalks forward, the air around him charged. Dean vaguely thinks he shouldn’t be so afraid of someone shorter and slimmer than he is, who’s just a holy tax accountant in a tan overcoat, but right now Cas is terrifying, a monster like all the rest, and Dean wishes he could remember that part, and not have to be reminded.

“You are destined for Heaven,” Cas says with all the certainty he’s had since the beginning, since he first appeared and thought Dean was a loser who couldn’t even deal with a ghost. “You will not burn yourself out simply to kill that abomination.”

Dean finally finds his voice, something about it sparking his determination and will to fight back when he was scared. It’s that point Cas keeps bringing up, the one thing he knows that Dean doesn’t, that he’s sure Dad is just getting an inkling of, and it pisses him off enough to push back his fear. “You know what killed her. You know what she meant when she said she let it in.”

Cas’ anger is still there, still charging the air like gas ready for the briefest spark, but his eyes go soft at the mention of Mary Winchester, and it slowly seems to calm him down. Cas seems conflicted by Dean’s question, and now it’s Dean’s turn to be angry, to fight back.

“You fucking know, you knew this whole time, and you didn’t fucking tell me.”

“So did we,” the calm, worried voice of the Candlemaker breaks the tension, getting Dean to look at him in surprise as he sees the god standing nearby, looking half-frozen from the cold. “We know your fate, and where your life and the lives of your family should have gone. That Heaven and Hell’s machinations destroyed that fate, and that is why there was the wager.” He glances as Cas, who looks upset at the Candlemaker’s presence, before he looks back at Dean. “You got one part done.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Dean mutters, not in the mood for the pagan god’s presence or Cas’ attempt to make it seem like he was a better choice. “I needed to see that.”

“Your mom needed to see you, and to free herself,” the Candlemaker says, getting Dean to look away. He continues to speak, probably to Cas more than Dean. “She was trapped - a soul who did Heaven’s work but was marked for sin by the Deal she made to save a loved one. One who is Remembered incorrectly, yet whose other family is Forgotten. There are only so many ways a soul can get out of that setup. She took one of those ways.”

“Dean is not taking the same route,” Cas growls, speaking for Dean, or at least for one side fighting for Dean’s soul. “He belongs to Heaven.”

There’s the aggravated sound of the Book of Life slapping its heavy covers and ruffled papers at Cas, before there’s silence. It’s followed by a brief rustling of papers, and Dean half-looks, seeing Cas looking at something in the Book that the Candlemaker is showing him, “Just so you’re sure about this, Angel.”

The page obviously upsets Cas enough that he disappears with the sound of wings beating, and the Candlemaker closes the Book before Dean can see what it had. “He’ll be back.”

“He’s got a job to do, I guessed that,” Dean mutters, unhappy.

The Candlemaker says nothing to that, but instead finishes, “You know what’s next, Dean. This isn’t gonna get any easier.”

Dean doesn’t answer the pagan god before it leaves, instead looking at the still-vibrant marigold, the thing that is starting to keep him upright as the Page burns up completely. After that, he just has the secret to tell, the final bit of kindling, and he’ll be gone.

\--

Heaven is ordered, familiar, and as Castiel makes his report on the Page and what he’s learned, the part of him that was upset and confused by what he’d seen relaxes in the familiarity. Zachariah looks angry at the lack of progress and actual, tangible information that can guarantee them ownership of Dean Winchester’s soul, but his Garrison appear happy to have threads that might give them that actual information from what they have available in Heaven. It’s a start, but that Dean Winchester knew little himself, and that the information came from a pagan god, made some of it questionable. That Dean knew enough to even _think_ of using that power against Azazel....

“We can’t have that,” is Zachariah’s command after he reports to Michael, “even if the abomination is hiding out, you will do all within your power to ensure that it doesn’t come to that. You will assign one of the others to find and dispatch it with swiftness.”

He nods, looking back over to Uriel as the other angel shifts, looking ready for the command. Instead, it’s Balthazar that speaks, interrupting in a way that has their Garrison shifting uncomfortably at the breach of protocol, “I’m already within the Hunter community, and searching for signs of the abomination already. The demon won’t be hidden for long.”

It allows Castiel at least some leeway. Zachariah is angry, but agrees to the plan and dismisses them easily, Castiel walking up to try to soothe Uriel’s feelings. Of the Garrison, he has had the most luck with finding and exterminating all demons when it was called for. “You are the better choice for hunting hoardes, not one, brother. I would hate for them to see you only at your worst, and not realize the good you do.”

Uriel is calm even before Castiel speaks, and simply gives him a smile before heading away. Castiel goes over to Balthazar, glaring at him as he notes the new outfit Balthazar’s Vessel is now wearing, one that apparently he’s more comfortable in. Unlike Castiel, Balthazar is obviously far too enamored with Earthly things. He gives Castiel a worried look before asking, “Something else happened, didn’t it Cassie?”

“No,” he says easily, because it’s the truth. He was shown a lie by the Book, a lie that the pagan god gave up in order to test his devotion to Heaven.

“Cassie,” Balthazar is not about to drop it unless pushed, and Castiel seriously considers for a long moment before he can feel the beginning of morning on Earth, specifically where Dean and Sam are. He has to ensure that Sam doesn’t suspect and distrust him anymore than he already does.

“I was shown a lie, Balthazar. That’s all.” It’s the only thing that Castiel can consider it to be, that somehow the Candlemaker became tainted like all those other pagan gods before it. What he’d seen simply couldn’t be what was planned for Dean. They were going to save Dean’s soul, help him recover, and allow him peace. What he’d seen...it was a perversion, and a fate that Castiel knows Michael would never allow to befall any soul.

\--

_Hibbing, Minnesota_

_January 16, 2005_

Dean knows that Sam hoped for some easy monster hunt and not some messed up mix of _Deliverance_ and _The Greatest Game_. He does his best to keep Jess safe and Cas out of the way while he goes after Sam. Dean knows that Sam is more worried for him, and he knows that whatever the Candlemaker showed Cas has freaked him out. It should have helped him in keeping Cas with Jess, in keeping the Angel from coming after him on this particular Hunt.

Dean doesn’t want to deal with the conflict his mind has about Cas. He has to remind himself that Cas wants his soul, and he’s just pissed at Dean for not telling him something that would let him get it quicker. He has to remind himself that Cas isn’t a friend. He has to remind himself that if he had the information, Dean would just have to expel Cas from his host, unless there was a more permanent way to kill an Angel. It’s his job, it’s what he _does._ Saving _people_ , hunting _things_ , and Cas is just that. He’s just a thing.

Dean’s doesn’t want to understand why, when there’s a sudden, bright blaze of white-blue light in the house, and he hears four bodies drop to the floor, he’s not afraid. He’s doing his best to ignore why, when he finally opens his eyes and the spots clear, and he sees Cas standing there, huge shadowed wings illuminated in the dim light of the horror house he’d been in, all he can feel is a deep, happy relief and sense of safety he hasn’t felt since the first time Dad came in...when...since...

_You left him alone?!_

The room is too small suddenly, spinning and seeming to change, from the horror house to that hotel room and back, his mind buzzing and when he looks down at a strange smell, Dean sees the ropes around his arms burning.

_Most important.../Watch out for Sammy._

_You broke the rule, Dean. I trusted you to not do that. I trusted you to keep Sammy safe, and you failed. Do you want something to get him? To get him like--?/I’m sorry, I won’t let it happen again, dad please.../_

_I didn’t meant to leave him, Pastor Jim, I didn’t!/Dean, what is the commandment? To honor thy father. To obey. You didn’t honor him, and Sam would have died like those children did. Because of you, they died./n-no.../That is why it’s a commandment, Dean. you honor your father, you don’t disrespect his rules simply because they’re inconvenient for you._

_Most important rule, Dean?/Watch over Sammy./Are you going to follow it this time?/Yes sir./It only takes one mistake, Dean, and you made a stupid mistake last time._

_Honor thy father. Obey thy father._

_Shtrigas are the worst to hunt, man./Only if you don’t got good bait. Tellin’ ya, just find a kid about the age they like, they’ll come right to it./You actually_ use _kids as bait?/Shtriga bastards only get hurt if they’re feeding. What else are you supposed to do? Parents ain’t gonna listen, certainly ain’t gonna be any help. But one, even two kids,_ family _, in the same room? It’s like a free buffet to a starving man._

“DEAN!”

He feels arms wrap around him, and he can only think that they aren’t Sam’s now-huge ones, that for such a small guy, Cas is so strong, stronger than Dad, and for some reason he smells like marigolds…

\--

He hears voices first, loud and muffled by a door, and for a brief second, Dean can imagine it’s just Mom and Dad downstairs, arguing over something, and it’ll be ok. He’ll make sure it’s ok, ‘cause he’s Mom’s…

“It appears the pagan god spoke the truth when it said it wouldn’t return should something like this happen again,” the voice is deep and rough, and Dean can barely manage to open his eyes. It’s enough to see Cas sitting near him, a hand on his chest where the marigold had been. He looks concerned, and the sudden quiet worries Dean.

“Your brother was very worried. We ended up at the house of a Hunter named Bobby Singer. He was the closest and his home is well protected against demons and monsters.”

Dean feels wrung out, tired, as Cas continues. Either he knows Dean is awake or he’s just talking, at this point, Dean doesn’t care. “You’ve been unaware of yourself for nearly a month while I worked to heal you, but it has been hard to keep my true self hidden from the others. Sam is quite worried due to some of the things you said while you were unconscious.”

Dean manages a blink. “W-wha?”

“You mentioned something recently that upset Bobby as well. Sam is attempting to get the story out of him, but apparently he knows little of it. He’ll want to hear it from you.”

Dean wants to turn, but right now he’s too weak to even keep his eyes opened. He doubts he can turn onto his side and feign ignorance, so instead he looks over at his phone, frowning at the light. Cas must have seen his look, because he glances to it then back to Dean. “You woke up just after it gave off a noise.”

Dean lets out a breath, still not feeling up to sitting up, and briefly wonders if he even can. Cas is watching him curiously and it only makes Dean irritated. “The...the family that…”

“The ones who were abominations were sent where they belonged. My priority was you, but something happened when I arrived. I can’t tell if it’s something that is already built in or that he pagan god set up when he first put the paper in.”

Dean’s too tired to even bother arguing that Cas has backslid when it came to pagans and their usefulness - obviously that look into the Book freaked him out enough to get him to believe the worst. “He said it was due to what I am...the faithful son.” Dean snorted. “I’m not. It’s bullshit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I ain’t... I screwed up, bad. It...all came up for some reason.”

Bobby’s voice from the door breaks whatever effect Cas had on him, the one that made Dean confess shit he never should be saying. “Boy, only thing you done wrong is scare the living crap outta me and your brother. Ya idjit.”

Dean closes his eyes, not even bothering to answer the other Hunter. He doesn’t want to see Bobby’s disappointment or anger at him, and it’s easier to have his eyes closed. Maybe he can get away with pretending to sleep.

“Sam is still upset?” Cas’ voice is at least respectful towards Bobby, and he seems to at least get some grudging respect back from Bobby. Which Dean knows is hard to get – the man is known for not trusting anyone, even vetted and experienced Hunters.

“Jess’ll calm him down, or Brady will, if they haven’t already. This is about that shtriga, ain’t it?”

Dean lets out a breath, wishing Bobby would let it go and leave him alone.

“I was born at night, but it wasn’t _last night_. I know you’re still tired from...what’s going on with you…” Dean is gonna have a long talk with Sam about discussing private things like how long Dean has to live, “but that ain’t no excuse to avoid this.” He only pauses briefly, apparently watching Dean for signs that he’s listening, “It wasn’t your fault, Dean.”

“What wasn’t?” Cas at least can ask the question, but Dean wants them to leave before Bobby says something. He doesn’t want to hear Bobby launch into the talk right there, explaining something he doesn’t know. He can’t hear it, so it’s nice when Cas adds just after what sounds like an angry grumble from Bobby, “Dean’s soul is still...fragile. I would like to hear what you know, so that I might have a better understanding, but…not here.”

Dean is doing his best to ignore the heated feeling that’s returning, but twenty times worse. It’s only when he feels a cool sensation run through him that he calms, enough to blink his eyes open and look at Cas. He doesn’t see Bobby, and hopes that means that Cas managed to get Bobby to leave. He feels a bit better, enough that his eyes are opened a bit wider to look at Cas, but he still feels horribly weak.

“I am a fast learner,” Cas tells him, “and though I cannot repair the damage as the Candlemaker could, I can at least lower the extent of the damage.” Cas’ hand is cool against his forehead, and Dean thinks that’s odd for just a moment before he’s lost in blue eyes. “You need to rest again, before we can think of speaking about what happened.”It’s so nice, to get lost in those blue eyes and not care what the others think, because they aren’t here, they can’t see, this is something that is only Dean’s. “You’re safe. I will watch over you. Your family is here as well, and will wait until you’re ready to speak about it.”

_Family...sam and jess downstairs...that brady guy he hasn’t met...bobby and his house full of books and the smell of engine oil…_

_...cas…_

He doesn’t know if he gave a signal, only that between one breath and the next, he’s back into that deep sleep that feels so good.

\--

Castiel comes downstairs with Bobby, and it’s only the fact that Castiel has Dean’s phone that keeps Sam from demanding to know what the hell is going on with him and Dean, not to mention what the hell happened in Hibbing. They’d been so afraid and focused on Dean, on what was going on, that Sam had yet to really figure anything out.

One moment, Sam was trapped in that damned cage, trying to figure a way out, and the next, every electronic was short circuited. When Sam headed for the road and the main house, uncertain if he’d run into the family or if Dean had managed to get them out, he saw Castiel coming out, carrying Dean and telling Sam they needed to get him somewhere safe. Sam’s mind had simply gone into panic mode, thinking that Dean had been shot or something bad. He’d realized as soon as they got to the car that Dean was out of it because of something else, but it was still enough to freak him out. He’d taken them back to the hotel, calling ahead to get Jess ready and let her know he was ok.

Dean was burning up so much that Sam couldn’t even touch him. Jess was almost afraid he was cooking his brain, even with Castiel’s assurance that it was a ‘soul burn’. That didn’t ease any of Sam’s tension, not after what happened to Mom’s soul. Not after he learned that Dean was being held together by items that pagan gods had given him.

“Is he awake?”

“He was,” Bobby said, still eyeing Castiel warily but apparently trusting him just enough to talk with him around, “but he ain’t healed yet.”

“Dean needs the rest,” Castiel tells them, looking like he’s considering what to say that won’t get Sam to start demanding answers again, “The burn was manifesting physically and mentally. Talking about the shtriga and what happened has resulted in some resurgence of it, but it is getting under control.” Castiel fiddles with something, pulling out Dean’s phone and looking at it curiously, as if confused. He finally hands over the phone to Sam. “It beeped, and that prompted Dean to wake early.”

Sam is going to guess that was Castiel’s way of saying ‘take the stupid thing away,’ and he looks down at the screen before freezing. Dad’s number is there, showing a missed text. On it is simply coordinates, like always, and Sam glances up before saying, “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Bobby lets out a huff, apparently guessing who it is, and Castiel frowns. “I was not--.”

“No, _Dad_ texted _Dean_. His last…” Sam stops as he looks at the call and text data. Whenever he got his own texts from other Hunters he was about to partner with, there was at least a room number, a code, _something_. All of Dean’s texts from Dad were simply coordinates, or a thing to look up - a date, a monster, maybe what might be a hotel room, but nothing else. No acknowledgement of a job done, or that what he’d found was the right thing, only when it was the _wrong_ thing. Sam recalls his ‘study sessions’ when he was younger, when Dad would demand information and remind Sam that _people were dying, do you want more people to die because we can’t find this thing?_ Dad doesn’t bother with that for Dean, but Sam gets a sneaking suspicion that it’s because Dad drilled that into Dean’s head before he ever started on Sam.

The few texts from girls that Dean had were all equally depressing - mostly because there was just texts from one girl, apparently named Cassie, and Sam hadn’t realized his brother was such a freakin’ softie. It was horrible to think, but...he obviously cared about Cassie, and something must have happened to make them break it off so abruptly. There was more care in even the few texts he’d sent Sam, the few attempts to reconnect that Sam had brushed off and ignored in the hopes that Dean wouldn’t bother him, so that Dad wouldn’t bother him, but seeing this…

Sam’s surprised Dean even got the Woman in White voicemail now. It’s chilling in the same way that Max’s final admission about the long abuse he’d suffered at the hands of his father and uncle had been. It’s just as chilling as when Sam had joked about something from his past and been told that no, that wasn’t ok, that was _neglect_ , it was _abuse_.

Sam suddenly has a sinking, horrible thought that Dean had gone to Stanford in the hopes that, with Sam nearby, that would prompt Dad to finally call. It’s enough to throw him off of his anger at Castiel for being whatever he was, for being someone Dean trusts when he isn’t family. Instead, he quickly looks up the coordinates, frowning at the location - it’s near Pastor Jim’s home of Blue Earth, maybe about three or so hours away. He isn’t sure how he feels about that, and he almost wants to go there now to talk to Pastor Jim, or have Jess talking to him (if he’s still deciding to not talk to Sam because of what Dad had said). Brady looks it up as Sam does his best to try to speak, but finds he can’t. His anger at his father, at himself for having missed all the cues, at how he only saw the bad and not realized what Dean saw, it all is too much. Jess stays near him, rubbing his arm, and Brady lets him see the information he can find on the computer. It at least calms him, enough to finally look over at Castiel before asking, “Why…why would a shtriga be here?” He motions to the map, as Castiel looks at it and Bobby joins, apparently realizing they might need help. It takes only a look before the older man is cursing up a storm, getting everyone to freeze and look over at him.

“That goddamn sonuvabitch, I’m gonna shoot him for real next time. I ain’t even gonna bother with the rocksalt either!”

“What?” Brady asks, confused but then sees the same pattern Sam noticed and makes the full connection. When they’d been driving, frantic to get to Bobby’s, Dean had apologized so much to Sam, had asked his forgiveness for letting the monster get him...had finally said it’s name, _shtriga_ , before falling silent. Brady had barely found the information on the shtriga in a few books that Bobby had...but Dad’s journal had been silent about it. Jess was starting to note that points of that journal were missing, this one more conspicuous after what Sam had found while looking into ghouls, and finding something else...something he was still debating talking to Dean about.

Bobby had explained, shortly after they arrived and Castiel started to work on caring for Dean, about the odd, vampiric-like witches that ate _spiritus vitae_ from its victims, resulting in compromised immune systems and, death or coma when everything was done. It tended to go after children, especially siblings, and would work through multiple families and children before it stopped, which was when the kids died. If you managed to catch it while it was vulnerable, and hit it with consecrated iron, it could be killed. The window was short, though - shtrigas were only vulnerable while eating.

“Who would know what happened, besides Dean?” Sam managed to ask. The only time he or Jess had left the house during the last month was to deal with a haunted asylum a few towns over. The job had nearly gone south had it not been for the help of a fellow hunter who’d been nearby. Sam knew he needed to deal with his anger at everything - at Cas, at Dean, at Dad - and while Brady and Jess were his touchstones at this point, his worry over Dean’s condition was only adding to the stress of not finding Dad, of not having a clear view of what it was that had attacked Brady’s girlfriend, or of how dangerous things were getting. Sam knew it had to do with demons, but he couldn’t figure out how big this thing was, or what the endgame was besides mass mayhem and an army of half-demonic children with powers and painful pasts.

“Pastor Jim knows the aftermath,” Bobby finally says, Castiel watching as Sam glares at the map. Of course it would be someone that isn’t talking to him, who might not know about what’s really going on, or if he does, is comfortable with what he thinks is a safety of a church.

Brady had mentioned some of what had happened to him, while possessed. He remembers going into a church. He doesn’t mention what he did there, only that the church was open to more demons now because of it. All that’s told Sam is that being in a church doesn’t automatically save you from evil.

Just like being willfully ignorant or avoiding it will only result in someone’s death.

“Dad knows, but I’m guessing he’s not going to answer,” Sam mutters, looking at Dean’s phone again. Jess is silent, also upset, before Castiel speaks up.

“I can go and speak to Pastor Jim. By the time I return, Dean should be well enough to speak of what happened.”

The group look at him as Brady asks, “What about the shtriga?”

“I can take care of it easily while I am gone.”

“Bullshit,” Sam says, walking over to him, “I’m going with you.”

Castiel looks at him, and suddenly Sam is afraid, terrified in a way he hasn’t been since he was a child. He doesn’t know who Castiel is, and briefly, his mind wonders _what_ he is, because it feels like Castiel just glaring at him charges the room with static, that he’s yelling at a supernatural being he can’t fight.

Jess moves to stand near Sam, but the continued glare from the shorter man doesn’t stop, nor does he seem to care about being surrounded by other Hunters. Instead, Castiel tells him, his voice firm, “I will deal with it, and learn what Pastor Jim Murphy knows,” before walking outside. Sam swallows, and after a moment to collect himself, races out to try to ask one more question. When he gets outside, though, Castiel is gone - their cars are all there, even the Impala, but Castiel is nowhere to be found.

“Sam, what the hell was that?” Bobby demands, coming out with him, glaring at his dog Rumsfeld as he sleeps nearby, apparently oblivious to the drama.

“I don’t know...but...how did he know Pastor Jim’s last name?”

\--

_Blue Earth, Minnesota_

_February 20, 2006_

The shtriga was easy to find, easier to kill, and Castiel remains long enough to heal the children it’s attacked, as well as a few others who are very ill and who need that help, before he goes to the church and Pastor Jim Murphy. He’d seen the place in the burnt piece of Dean’s soul, he saw it when Dean woke and saw the coordinates, the link to what had resulted in his fear and self-loathing. Castiel doesn’t know the story, but he wants to learn more. He wants to learn what happened, so he can protect Dean from the continued destruction of the page.

The church is old, the protections waning and ill-kept by the man who’d dedicated himself to Father and doing His work on the earthly plane. He is unsurprised by Castiel’s presence, but it’s obvious he believes him to be simply a soul seeking guidance. Castiel frowns at him as the man walks over, a black shirt and white collar possibly mentioning which of the human’s beliefs in Father’s word he follows, but one that Castiel doesn’t bother to know. They follow Father’s word, yet argue semantics and reasonings and other trivial things. Ultimately, all it does is divide and allow for demons to have more of a foothold, or for churches, hallowed ground, to be ripe for a demonic attack because he failed to understand what was needed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” the older man said, holding out his hand, “all are welcomed in this holy place.”

“They should not be,” Castiel says, looking around and ignoring the offered hand, “you open yourself up to demonic attack.”

He can sense Jim Murphy’s stillness even before he looks back at the man, the tension now palpable as the human swallows. “Who...what are you doing here?”

“I am here about an attack eighteen years ago, on a group of children near here. A Hunter went there, and came to you afterwards.”

Jim Murphy stiffens, looking upset, and begins to walk back to the pew. “You’ll have to be more specific. I have helped many souls who take up the work of hunting such beings..”

“This was one near here, and the Hunter was John Winchester,” Castiel sees the pastor shift near the pew, knowing he was getting a weapon in case but with the mention of Dean’s father, he now focuses more on Castiel and what he said.

“John saw the signs when no one else did, and he explained things to Dean and Sam while they were there. He nearly had it, but...something happened. Dean left his post before he should have and nearly got Sam killed. When they arrived, I had a talk with the boy. He was repentant for what he’d done, understood his mistake, and he didn’t make it again as far as I knew. John was unhappy because while he’d harmed the thing, he didn’t kill it, and couldn’t pick up the trail afterwards.” Jim Murphy shook his head. “I did my best to watch for signs again, but have not seen any.”

“I see,” Castiel said, not bothering with asking him why he obviously didn’t see the signs of the shtriga’s work in the other towns it must have visited in the years since then. He wonders how it is that so many Hunters, so many of those who know the dangers from the supernatural, are so compliant with their lives and their abilities. The praise for John Winchester should not have happened - Jim Murphy or any other Hunter in this area should have spotted the issue and dealt with it long before it became an issue.

“You said that he explained to his two sons about ‘why they were there’. I don’t quite understand,” Castiel finally asked, knowing the reason for it but wishing to hear the confession from Jim Murphy. The pastor looks at him curiously before Castiel elaborates, “Shtriga go after young children. You honestly believe that they understand the danger to where they can make that decision?”

“Dean knew about the supernatural.”

“Did Sam?”

“If Dean knew, Sam must have,” Jim Murphy says with too much conviction, “John assured me that they understood and that Dean knew his duty. That Dean failed at it, confessed as much to me at failing to follow his father’s command…that is why that monster is still out there.”

Castiel barely refrains from showing his true side and blinding the man for his insolence. Children were nearly all innocents, and to say that they were to be used as bait and treated like an adult simply because of knowledge of something was inexcusable. He sees that Pastor Murphy notices his anger and looks almost annoyed at it, like seeing that anger at such a thing is not something to be considered. “Isaac accepted his fate when Abraham took him to the mountain, just as Ishmael accepted his to care for his mother in the wilderness.”

Castiel lets out a breath, looking away from the pastor as he continues to speak, attempting to name others that knew their place while children. He finally walks out without thanking Jim Murphy, walks out into the snow, looking around before he sees the familiar Grace he felt from before. Balthazar’s Vessel was dressed ill for the cold, still in the v-neck and light coat, and he sits nearby, looking disgruntled. “The demon remains stubbornly hidden, my dear, but John Winchester is on the move. You knew that, though, didn’t you?”

“I wanted to thank you for helping Sam and Jess during that Hunt. It couldn’t have been easy to stay hidden in such a place.” Castiel needs to be positive, or else he will smite the church and Pastor Murphy with it.

Balthazar let out a huff. “I was more than happy to deal with that ghost and the ones trapped there by his insanity. I heard from Sam about Dean being ill. I take it that page is acting up again?”

Castiel is silent, more grateful for Balthazar’s presence as he feels the movement from Pastor Jim Murphy, apparently thinking of coming out to continue his rant. “It reacted to an event from years ago. I came here to learn more about what occurred, to give Dean time to rest.” He shakes his head. “I learned far more with so little words.”

Balthazar leans back and relaxes into his Vessel more than most of their brothers or sisters would do, their Grace touching enough for him to see what it was Castiel had heard and seen. “You learned that he was bait. Perhaps where he was put, trapped and saved yet not used to bait such a thing, brought up that connection? Mud monkeys like to connect the oddest things, you know.”

“Apparently they get it from annoying pagans,” Castiel muttered, unhappy and wanting to speak to someone about what little he knew. Everything is safe for the moment. The shtriga is dead, the children will recover, and he has his answer from Jim Murphy. That doesn’t change the fact that Dean is still hurting, that Sam Winchester doesn’t trust Castiel, and that this connection to the painful past was hurtful to Dean’s soul. “I am doing my best to protect him, but the trauma only reminds me that his time is limited, that I must find these answers I can’t figure out. It did what a blank page should do, gained writing, yet the moment it did, it burned.” Castiel lookes down at the snow around them. “I can’t think of how to stop him from the self-destructive path he wishes to take. I fear that this wager was made for us to lose.”

“Do you think the demons will have a better chance?”

“I doubt it. Even if they were once humans, they don’t know Dean, and the items were tied to his fate. I can’t see how, though.”

Balthazar lets out a sigh, seeing his dilemma. “I wonder if it’s simple, and we’re just not seeing it. Focusing more on one thing instead of the whole picture.”

Castiel considers it for a long moment, finally asking Balthazar, “Do you believe we can do this?”

“Of course I do, Cassie darling.” He looks over at Castiel and offers a charming smile. “You’re the one who’s looking into it, and who’s been dealing with the stubborn mule of a man. If anyone can figure it out and win the wager, it’s you.”

\--

Dean wakes up to the sudden feeling of struggling to breathe, like something was sitting on his chest. He barely manages to hold in a groan, instead sitting up slowly and working on breathing. It takes just a moment before he sees the red-clad, huge sombrero-wearing figure of La Muerte, holding up the pot with the withering marigold. She slowly places it near him as Dean takes in another, labored breath, letting out a wet, familiar cough as he struggles to sit up, noting the beeping clock nearby showing it to be 2am.

_FUCK_ , he thinks as he reaches and gets the small watering pot out from his duffle bag, slowly pouring the mixture she’d given him into it. He’s not at all surprised that, while he’s doing this, the sound of wings comes from behind him, and Cas growls out, “It’s not your time,” to La Muerte. He wants to argue with Cas that he’s fine, but he gets caught up in a coughing fit, grateful for whatever is keeping the others outside of the room from hearing him.

“ _Silencio_ ,” she tells the angel, and Dean’s hopes of hiding the marigold is gone with the next thing she tells Cas. “The Page isn’t going to hold him up much longer. This,” she motions to the slowly-recovering marigold as Dean begins to breath easier, “is taking its place.”

Cas’ silence gets Dean to glance at him, the angel looking upset before saying, “I should have seen it. That is why he didn’t recover, why he wasn’t recovering, despite waking up briefly.”

Dean shifts to look at Cas, finally finding his voice. “I wanted it hidden. I was caring for it on my own, Cas. It’s not your fault.”

Cas looks at him, his figure becoming more visible as Dean’s eyes adjust to the semi-darkness, lit only by the supernatural candles from La Muerte, and he lets out a breath, looking upset. “I must ask you something, Dean. It may harm you, or make it so the marigold is what keeps you alive.” Dean briefly feels afraid for the question. It’s 2am and he knows that if he looks at his hand now, it’ll have spots of blood on it. It doesn’t stop him from nodding to Cas, who watches him intently before speaking again.

“Did your father tell you that you were bait, for the shtriga hunt in Wisconsin?”

Dean swallows, because he can’t guess at how Cas knows that much about the Hunt where Dad started to look at him as a failure. La Muerte is nearby still, Dean guesses so she can heal the marigold the same way the Candlemaker healed the page, if the hard truth gets him to freak out again like he had nearly a month ago. It’s still hard to tell them, to talk about the first time, that one big time that lead to other times, other Hunts, other harsh realizations of what his use had been without ever being told his full role. Sammy had only been left alone after he knew the truth, and that had been after Dean had been _ordered_ into the Hunt. It wasn’t even over before Dad demanded Sammy be contacted, so he could do research on the thing they had trouble pinning down. Dean had managed to lure it out...Sammy never knew.

Sammy was always safe. Dean wasn’t, because he knew the full truth, because he couldn’t keep Sammy safe, and so he was the one used. But this, where Dean was told he’d screwed up, only to learn much later in life that it wasn’t a screw up, it was _deliberate_ and Dad...Dad had…

“No,” he says, his voice hoarse and soft, choked up from a month of burning himself out after Cas had saved him from the people who’d hunted others. Cas hadn’t used him as bait, but come to _save him_ because he was _worried and afraid_ …

“He only told me if I had to pretend a part, or lure them out somewhere specific.” He chokes on a bitter laugh. “Not even then. What better way to make them think they got the stupid Hunter then to not tell him what’s really gonna happen?”

Cas moves forward slowly, finally reaching out and touching Dean’s shoulder, Dean feeling the coolness he’s come to associate with Cas’ healing power or whatever it is flowing through him, making him shiver before he feels it stop, near where Dean’s hand is touching the wilting marigold. Instead, warmth like a flame, or an oven opening to baked pie, moves on that side as he looks at La Muerte. She’s easier to look at, not something or someone that is going to be with him as he explains this all in the morning to Sam and Bobby, explains why Dad sent him the text with the obvious expectation of making him ‘deal’ with something that should’ve been taken care of years ago.

“ _Tu angel_ has dealt with the monster, Dean,” she tells him as the marigold rejuvenates, turning as vibrant as before. “In this, you must not confront the being, but the fact that you are not to blame. You must speak to him and the others of what happened.”

Dean wishes he didn’t have to. He doesn’t want to do that. He wants to Hunt, to avoid this, but the steady, comforting hand of Cas keeps him upright. La Muerte’s smaller, warm hand on his is enough to make him shake with emotion, feeling tears start to roll down his face as she kneels before him, head tilted up to look at him as she gives him a warm smile. “Sam and the others will not blame you, Dean. You can leave afterwards, you can do whatever you feel you must in the year we’ve gifted you, but understand that by doing as we asked, you might have a better outcome than before.”

Dean doesn’t say anything to it, swallowing hard instead as La Muerte slowly stands, looking back at Cas. “ _Angelito...nunca nos mintió acerca de su destino_.”

Dean can feel Cas stiffen behind him, and manages to glance back and see Cas looking like Dean feels, like he’s attempting to justify a lot of things and can’t quite manage it. La Muerte is silent before adding, “ _No es importante ahora_. Rest, Dean. I need to ask your angel something.”

Dean blinks, finally shaking his head. “No. I know that...something freaked him out from the Book of Life. I’m not gonna be kept in the dark about this.”

La Muerte gives him a look, then glances at Cas. “It’s up to you.”

“I will not put Dean to sleep if he wishes to hear the truth.”

La Muerte looks a bit interested before she says, “ _Bien_. Were you asked to follow Dean, or was that your choice?”

“I volunteered to help Dean, and thus ensure that Heaven won and he was granted his place and just reward.”

La Muerte’s face is unreadable, and it gets Dean to frown. That’s just what Cas always said - he knew about the wager and he decided to come down and learn what he could so Heaven would win. Dean couldn’t remember him ever saying or implying he was pushed into it. Cas wasn’t lying about that...was he?

“I see…” La Muerte’s voice makes Dean glance at her, worried, just before he sees her smile. “You are quite the angel, then. Thank you for watching over him.”

Suddenly, Dean’s fears disappear. Something about that, about what she said, about Cas’ steady hand and continued presence in his life, makes him realize that Cas wasn’t lying. He volunteered to come down here, had learned what he could to try to not anger Dean again, was here to _help_ and ensure Dean was cared for. He was doing his best to make sure Dean would be at least mentally focused when his time came, months from now, and just as suddenly...the thought of being owned by Heaven didn’t frighten him. If Cas was an example of the angels, he could live with his fate being in their hands.

\--

_February 24, 2006_

Sam Winchester is not happy at Castiel’s return, despite the fact that Dean has recovered and is downstairs having a light breakfast. Dean had moved the Marigold back into the Impala without anyone else having seen it, obviously not wanting his brother or the others to see it or ask more questions, let alone worry. Castiel doesn’t know how it was he never saw the flower before, but he supposes that it was only to appear when the Page had fulfilled its purpose. With the Page now burnt to a point of hardly holding up, the Marigold seemed to now strive to hold up Dean. Castiel had managed, after La Muerte had left, to give his report on what he knew. Zachariah was still upset by the lack of progress, not to mention his and Balthazar’s constant ‘coddling’ of the ‘mud monkeys’. The phrase that Castiel had once so easily dismissed now seemed to only make him more aware of how wrong it was for angels to call humans that, why for so long humanity gave its loyalty to the pagan gods and were starting to turn that way again.

La Muerte’s words haunt Castiel as he stands near the table, watching over Dean as he gets something to eat before glancing over at Castiel, then back to Sam. Jess and Brady are not in at the moment, and Bobby is around somewhere. Castiel almost wishes for the distraction, to keep his mind from wandering to what he’d seen in the Book, to not remember what La Muerte had told them when she’d revitalized the Marigold.

_Nunca nos mintió acerca de su destino._

_We would never lie about his destiny._

Castiel glances over at Dean as he accepts his phone back from Sam, looking it over as Sam explains about what they learned, then glances over at Castiel, his annoyance evident as he swallows it down before asking, “What happened with the shtriga and Pastor Jim?”

“The shtriga died and those he attacked are recovering well,” Castiel tells him, seeing Dean relax at the news, “I spoke to Pastor Jim Murphy, and he claimed that your father explained the danger to Dean before he left, and Dean had agreed to be ‘bait’, as it were. He also believed that since Dean knew about the danger, Sam knew as well, and so there was no issue as he saw it, beyond Dean disobeying his father.”

Dean looks at his half-finished oatmeal, Castiel watching and seeing no sign of the fire burning out of control on the charred remains of the Page, or against whatever else the Marigold used to hold Dean up. It’s an improvement, but one that Castiel is a bit worried about.

“He told me to stay in the hotel room, like usual, and the basic thing,” Dean finally explains to Sam and Cas, “How I’d know if it was his call or knock, to shoot first if anyone came through the door, and to watch out for you, Sam. That was most important, and I...I didn’t do it. I went out because a week in a motel room with no contact besides Sam and the tv had me crawling up the walls, and when I got back, when I saw it...and Dad busted in right then...after I told him I’d left, just for a moment, he was so mad at me. He never looked at me the same. Pastor Jim was just as pissed, reminded me I had to ‘obey’ Dad. I hadn’t, and I nearly got Sam killed. That’s what they reminded me about. I failed to protect Sammy, the most important rule, and I failed at obeying Dad.”

“But...Dean, you were just a kid,” is what Sam says, upset and kindness in his voice.

“Don’t,” Dean starts to say forcefully, but deflates a moment later, looking down at the table. “Don’t…Dad saw it as unfinished business for me. Because before...all this...that’s what it would’ve been. He gave me those coordinates because he wanted _me_ to finish it.  Whatever else he thought would have happened, that was his intent. To have me be the one who killed it, so I could redeem myself in his eyes. I don’t think he even realizes I guessed what role I really filled, all those years ago.” Dean lets out a sad chuckle that Castiel doesn’t like. He hates how resigned Dean is to his fate, how much he will keep from the others, as if that safety will keep them away from the full truth or horrible fate that might still occur by near the end of this year. “I always figured it out, in the end. _Obey your father..._ yeah, even when he doesn’t let me know the actual danger until it’s trying to eat me. He was pissed ‘cause it went after you, Sam, not me. I was supposed to protect you, and be the bait. You both are fine so long as it’s me who gets snacked on.”

Sam looks like he might protest, then pauses, as if something comes to his mind and clicks everything he never realized into place in horrible, quick succession. Many of the issues seems to come from Dean’s upbringing and the belief that, since he knew about the supernatural, he was therefore no longer a child, or at least an innocent. Fledglings were given more care, and all were born with a knowledge of what they would be, what Garrison they would end up in, and the love that Father and his Archangels gave to them, and of what abominations are and how to deal with them. They were never sent on missions until they were older, until it was shown that they _understood_ the danger, not just that they _knew_ of it. That Dean was put into such danger when he was the human-equivalent of fledglings only makes Castiel angrier at John Winchester and the others who allowed him to do such things. No matter what their ultimate outcome, Castiel isn’t going to let Dean or Sam be alone with the man.

Castiel moves to put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, feeling the continued heat that seems to now be a part of Dean’s body, his soul being helped by the Marigold and Page that were showing signs of decay. At the touch, Dean instantly relaxes and offers Castiel a small smile while Sam watches, Jess and Brady coming in a moment later. Jess clears her throat after a moment, getting Sam’s attention at least. Castiel keeps his hand on Dean, however, grateful to see how the physical touch seems to ensure Dean remains calm. The Marigold holding more power seems to be helping to keep the fire from Dean’s soul in check, but there is no guarantee it will remain that way. Jess glances unhappily at Castiel before finally asking Dean, “Are you feeling ok?”

“You mean besides the random fever I got over getting rescued? Or the fact I got out of it because Dad threw me a bone, _finally_ , and it turned out to be something _he_ should’ve taken care of, not me? Yeah, I’m feeling super, thanks for asking.”

Sam looks upset at Dean’s heavy sarcasm, Jess saying nothing as Dean lets out a breath, running a hand through his short hair. “Talking about it, about...about what Dad did, or didn’t do, made me feel a bit better. I’m not sure what else you want.”

Sam shifts a bit, glancing briefly at Castiel then back to Dean. “We got a call from a friend of ours - Becky Warren. Her brother Zach just got arrested for murdering his girlfriend. We’d like you to come with us, help us out on this.”

Dean is quiet, considering, before shaking his head. The reluctance and decision to not join his brother in this is astonishing, getting everyone to wait for an explanation that never comes. Sam finally lets out a huff of annoyance.

“You’re not leaving with him,” Jess says, getting Dean to look at her as Sam glances at her briefly, then looks back at Dean, nodding in agreement. The two are looking at Castiel mostly, as if daring him to speak up, but he simply keeps his hand on Dean’s shoulder, offering the comfort and support. “You’re the best chance we have at making sure her brother is ok. Becky knows that we’re taking a break, but--.”

“I’m not gonna go just so you two can have a convenient add-on person who could be the fall guy if shit goes wrong, and I’m not gonna go and help you out with whatever is going on,” Dean tells them, voice firm and final in his decision, “You told me when I left you had your own contacts because the ones we used to have cut you off. I get that you’re upset with me, I get you’re worried about me, but I’m not gonna stick near you just because of that. Dad isn’t gonna come back because we’re in the same area. He’s not gonna trust me enough to add my number to that voicemail. I gotta do this on my own, Sam, and I’m not gonna listen to you bitching about Cas. He’s _my_ friend, _my_ partner, and I trust him with the life I have for now. Just like I trust Jess and Brady with your life.”

Castiel watches Sam stiffen, anger and upset boiling up in him as Jess glares at both Dean and Castiel, as if they have equal parts Sam’s upset. Castiel considers if he should stay, since his presence seems to be what is upsetting them the most, or if he should simply tell them what he is. Dean’s reluctance to explain what Castiel really is only adds to the issues building between the two brothers, and it worries Castiel.

“Sam, I left you alone for four years,” Dean tells his brother, his voice still calm and carrying the weight of his decision, “I didn’t bother you, I didn’t try to contact you, nothing. When I did and you explained it all, wanted me gone, I left. Whatever happened after that is on me, not you. You don’t get to play my protector now because of it.”

Sam swallows, emotions running the gambit as Jess continues to glare at them. Brady’s the one who speaks up finally, saying, “I got in touch with Ellen, she knows another guy who can meet us there. He’s been looking in the situation and he might know what’s going on.”

Dean gives Sam a smile, though it obviously doesn’t please him or end his worry. “See? Problem solved. And I got enough stuff to do.”

Dean gets up from the table, taking his bowl to put into the sink and walking out as Castiel follows, noting the glares that continued from not just the trio, but also from Bobby when he went to help Dean move the rest of his clothing into the Impala.

“Will you be fine with this?” Castiel asks, knowing the others were watching, “You don’t have to leave for my sake.”

Dean stops, putting down the hood of the trunk and letting out a sigh. “It’s for me, not you. I only got a few months left, Cas, and after that, it’s…” he shrugs. “I’m gonna do my best, save as many as I can. That was my goal even before I got an angel helping me out.” He gives Castiel a warm smile. “Sam’s got good people with him. I meant it when I said I trust them with him. That...that’s hard for me to do. I still wanna make sure he’s ok, I still...that’s still drilled into me, to keep Sammy safe above everyone else. But I can’t think like that now. Not with just a year left.” He moved to the driver’s side, opening up the door and looking over at Cas with a smile. “I know he’ll take a bit to come around, after...everything, and you’re here mostly for me, but after it all, you’ll check in on him, right?”

“I doubt I’ll be welcomed.”

“Yeah...but could you? Just to...just so wherever I go, if you can come and tell me he’s still ok…”

Castiel blinks and looks at Dean, head tilted in confusion before he sees it. A spark of hope for Heavenly reward.

“I will,” he finally promises, “no matter what the outcome.”

\--

“Brady, what the hell was that?” Jess demands, Sam letting out a breath as Brady argues with Jess over what happened.

“He’s not gonna listen to us while that thing is with him, but we’re not gonna get rid of it either,” Brady argues back. “That part of me that remembers being possessed is _freaked out_ with it around here. It’s powerful, whatever it is, do you think us saying ‘oh, you should drop it’ will really work?”

“Brady’s got a point,” Bobby says, standing up for Brady as Jess fumes. “Whatever he is, he knows his things, and he’s able to get past my wards. He ain’t anything I’ve read about, but some of the lore has gotten lost.”

Sam finally shakes his head, speaking up. “Dean wouldn’t say anything like that, but we can’t really do anything about it. I can’t let him get isolated like that again.” He looks over at Jess. “I know he wants us to do our own thing, but maybe if I talk to him, keep up the pressure, something will work. He’ll...get away from it, come meet up with us outside of its influence, something.” Sam looks back down at the table. He wants Dean back, wants to know what is going on and what they can do to save him. Dean’s silence on it only meant that Castiel thing had control over whatever would happen near the end of the year, and Sam wouldn’t accept that. He couldn’t accept Dean giving up like that, and he certainly wasn’t gonna accept that there was nothing they could do about it.

“Let’s go help out Becky...meantime, I’m calling Dad. If anyone can get through to Dean, it’s him.”

Even after what Dad did with the shtriga, or that they said he did. Yeah, Bobby thought that Dad might do that, but he also knows that Dad loved Sam and Dean. Sam can’t believe that his father would ever do something like that, would ever leave them to be bait. The few times they’d had Dean lure something out, he’d known they were nearby, known he’d be ok. Dad wouldn’t leave Dean in such a mess...right?

\--

_Cape Girardeau, Missouri_

_March 15, 2006_

The call from Cassie is unexpected, and interrupts a planned trip to Pennsylvania to meet Sam and Jess for a possible case. Cas doesn’t complain about the change, and doesn’t ask questions about Cassie or her knowledge of ghosts. He says none of the things that Sam says when Dean calls him up to apologize and explain the situation.

“She’s an old friend I met during a job in Ohio. Her father was killed and it sounds like it’s our kinda thing.”

“ _Really? Because from what I’m reading, it sounds like a standard car accident, so_ how _would it be something like…_ ” there was a pause and Dean waits, seeing Cas watch him as they get ready to head into the newspaper where Cassie works. “ _You told her. Our big family number one rule – we do what we do and we shut up about it – and you go out with this chick more than once and tell her everything?_ ”

Dean draws in a breath, finally saying, “Looks like. You handle whatever’s goin’ on in Pennsylvania, we’ll hook up on another case, ok?”

“ _Dean--._ ” Dean hangs up and puts his phone on silent, tossing it back into the car and looking over at Cas. “What?”

“I’m communing with Heaven,” Cas says after a moment, “Think of it as similar to a call to your brother. They expressed some interest in having me be joined by another of my brothers, with how things are going.” Dean knows that Cas is talking about how much care Dean has had to put into caring for the marigold, especially as it begins to actually show signs of dying with Dean’s declining health. Dean can’t be upset with it, oddly enough –now-visual signs of his own decline only reminds Dean of the short amount of time he has left, and that he wants Cas to figure things out. It’s why he frowns at the news as they start to head in. “Why? I mean, the things are supposed to be riddles, they aren’t gonna be easy.”

“They believed that speaking and helping you should have resulted in more information, not the lack of it that I seem to have. With nearing half a year until the deadline, they want to make sure that we either have the advantage, or that there is no room for error.”

Dean lets out a sigh as they walk in. “Cas, no offense but you can tell them that this is like trying to figure things out here. You can’t just jump in and _know_. Even with all the information, we still do interviews, as questions, figure out _what_ is going. That way it doesn’t come back. Trust me, the few rush jobs Dad did? I had to go back when he parted ways with me, just so I could makes sure things didn’t act up. Jumping into this, expecting a simple solution, that’s what gets Hunters killed. I get you and yours are supernatural powerhouses, but that doesn’t mean that jumping in won’t be a bad thing too.”

Cas looks thoughtful as they walk in, Dean spotting Cassie and smiling when he did so, right before something else comes up in his chest. He’d liked Cassie, sure – they fought a lot about stuff because she’d been a journalism major and he’d still been working with Dad. She’d thought he’d been part of some group that liked reporting things from some side that instantly got her on the defensive. He’d liked arguing with her, because it’d been…fun. It’d been great to argue and not have someone claiming it was only gonna put lives on the line, or that he was just saying it because ‘that’s what Dad says’. After the time at Sonny’s, it was one of his best times away from his family.

But…even as he looks at her, and remembered how much he’d loved that she didn’t want just a quick fix, that they’d been stupid and thought they could be a couple, that he’d told her as part of a ‘big expose’ and she’d laughed at him…

“Dean.”

He still likes her, still wants to be with her, but…he wants more to help her, and get back on the road with Cas.

“Hey Cassie.” He gives her a smile, and he can see she has similar thoughts. They had changed over the years between, and even if they might end up in the sack together, they also both knew they were just friends. That this horrible thing had brought them together, had meant she had to admit to something she didn’t want to, and he was here to help.

“This is my friend, Castiel. Cas, this is Cassie Robinson. She’s the one that called me.”

Cas nods, looking at her before saying, “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she tells him, offering a warm smile before she looks back at Dean. “He’s not family?”

“My family and I had to take some time off. But he’s here to help, and so’m I.”

\--

The one perk of having an Angel on your side is that it’s easy as hell to get rid of ghosts, including vengeful, racist ones. Cassie is happy that they take care of it before someone else dies, but saddened by the death of her father and his business partner.

“We are warriors, not protectors,” Cas tells her, “there are only so many of us, and even if one of us destroyed all the angry and vengeful spirits, it would soon wear us out.”

Cassie lets out a sigh, nodding. “Yeah, I get it. I miss my dad, but I’m so glad you stopped it.”

Dean is grateful that while Cas was gone, he and Cassie had talked. He knew her the best, and she knew him, and it was good to talk about the break up and the rest - his attempted reconnect with his brother and his brother’s upset about Cas, not to mention his obvious annoyance at Dean brushing him off to come here and help Cassie. Now, as they get ready to leave, he looks over at her. “I’m glad we talked.”

“Me too.”

“If you’d...I mean, if we’d handled things…”

Cassie smiles at him, and slowly shakes her head. “I’m a realist, Dean. After everything, I know it wouldn’t have lasted, or something would have come up and you’d be gone. It was nice, and I’m glad that I got to know you. But I also know that you’ve got your eye on someone else.”

Dean feels himself blush, letting out a breath before saying, “Take care, Cassie.”

“You too.” They let go as Dean gets into the Impala, Cas in the passenger’s seat, the Marigold held carefully on his lap, before they’re off again. He wonders if Sam’s done good in Pennsylvania, or if he needs help. It’s weird, thinking like that, but he’s also glad for the distance. He doubts he’d be able to concentrate with Sam around, or get half of the stuff done as fast as they did.

“Who?”

Dean frowns, looking over at Cas as they hit one of the long, quiet back roads. “‘Who’ what?”

“Cassie mentioned that you have your eye on someone else. We have only really spoken to your family, so I was curious who she was speaking of. You and she seemed to be very well suited for each other.”

_SHIT._ Of all his flings, Cassie and maybe Rhonda Hurley knew about his...well, the thing that Dad would view as his one redeemable feature. It was why he’d loved it at Sonny’s, why he was so happy when Dad finally let him off the tight leash he’d kept him on until Sam went to Stanford. Dean hated how the two had acted, that he’d been left alone because of their anger at each other, but he’d loved the time to just...be himself.

Rhonda knew he liked the feel of satin and to be ordered around. Cassie knew he loved all sorts, because of how they’d met and where. College was one thing, but secret orgy? Yeah, Dean iwasn’t mentioning that to straight-laced Sam. He _certainly_ wasn’t gonna tell a freakin’ _angel_ that he was thinking about him in a less-than-holy way, in one that’ was still causing him issues because Cas iwas, technically, not human. He might be good, he might be a great guy, but he iwas a monster. He’d be viewed as a monster if Sam and Dad really knew what he was - hell, Sam and Jess were calling Cas ‘it’ already! If he tells Cas what she meant...he’d leave. Even with what he needsed to know, Cas would leave.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean tellsold him, “I got nearing half a year left, Cas. Whatever else I do, I can’t afford to hook up with them anyway.”

Cas is quiet, looking over at him for a long moment, before Dean’s phone rings with a familiar tone. He’d forgotten that he’d left Sam hanging for the day they were helping Cassie, and he reaches over for it before answering, glad for the distraction.

“What do you want, Sam?”

“ _Dean, it’s Jess,_ ” Sam sounds frantic, upset and saddened, “ _We...it was a rawhead, and it...Dean, she’s dying._ ”

\--

_March 18, 2006_

_Ford City, Nebraska_

They arrive only to find that Sam and Jess have left the hospital without leaving word for them, and it takes another day to track them down as they go into a faith healer’s tent. Castiel can see that Dean is upset over this, as evident by the fact that Dean hasn’t asked Castiel to come in or even look for the two. His upset is obviously not just from Sam’s lack of talk and focus on Jess’ health, but where they end up going.

Castiel can understand Dean’s frustrations - before Castiel’s presence was known, Dean did not trust in Angels or have any faith beyond what he could do, not to mention the happy miracles that sometimes kept him alive. Now, he trusts Castiel, but Castiel wonders how far that would extend if he met his brothers.

He takes the time to ensure the Marigold is cared for and protected before he goes to see Zachariah, leaving a note to tell Dean he had to ‘call in’ but would return later, and to pray for him if he needed the help. He hopes that Dean and Sam manage to not do anything that results in a fight again, or to alienate themselves further from each other. The thought of that happening with any of his fellow Angels is horrifying to Castiel, and he’s grateful for the ordered and calming peace of Heaven to calm his mind from the past few weeks.

_Nunca nos mintió acerca de su destino._

_The Book opened, and showed three panels, all of them of Dean and Castiel can’t believe it, he can’t…_

“Castiel,” Zachariah is once again annoyed, though the fact that Castiel is in Heaven and not reporting from Earth seems to ease his upset a little, “have you any news?”

“Some,” Castiel says, sharing with Zachariah and the Garrison what he’s found and what Dean has said about the situations. The Marigold’s existence and appearance is upsetting to those who are analyzing the items, though a few are just as upset with the Page’s burning, wondering what it means or what significance it can truly have. After giving his information and aiding the others however he can, he’s not at all surprised that Zachariah is still angry at the lack of progress and at his failing to gain any information from Dean regarding the final item, the secret.

“As far as I can tell, Dean hardly understands what he is given. Even knowing what they are does not give him insight into why he was given those items,” Castiel explains once again, upset and feeling tired in a way he hadn’t before, “If I knew of a way to gain the information, I would have gleamed it earlier. But for now, the answers remain hidden.”

It’s odd, because he feels something is missing from the puzzle, something that will let him realize what is really going on, what was said...but he can’t think of it.

_Nunca nos mintió acerca de su destino._

_Three panels - Dean in pain and causing pain as a Seal broke; Dean kneeling before his father and brother, head bowed in submission; Dean looking up, face tear-stained and as pained as it was in Hell, as Michael descends to take him as a Vessel--_

“Castiel?”

“Forgive me,” he apologizes, shaking his head to clear away the image. “The pagan gods are working to try to stop our work and sow doubt between myself and Dean. However, Dean trusts me fairly well, and is not as open to them either.”Zachariah gives him a look as Castiel continues, “He believes that a Heavenly reward is the best course. He will help me however he can, and I have every confidence that he will aid us in our quest.”

Zachariah skepticism is almost palpable, and Castiel suddenly wishes to be with Dean. At least there, even if they had to contend with Sam’s upset and the anger of the others at his presence, they listened to what he said. It was odd to think about that, to realize that he was more comfortable with Dean than with his own family, than even the comfort of Heaven and the assurance of his choices and place in Father’s plan. He listens as Zachariah gives him a long lecture on his duty and need to continue to keep Dean Winchester from failing or from demons in gaining the advantage. He answers appropriately and at the right areas, pausing when he feels the arrival of Balthazar to speak up as well, giving over his opinions on what is going on and the status the other Winchesters.

“Why are you even following them?” Zachariah mutters, “We don’t need them.”

“Their connection to Dean Winchester will aid in figuring out the riddles, won’t they?” Balthazar points out, defending their work, “Not to mention we’ve gotten great information on how the humans are Hunting and dealing with the abominations. We’re also learning more about the abominations that are now around, considering how low their numbers are, and how best to deal with them. I’d say so far it’s a success, even before we get Winchester’s soul out of the deal.”

Zachariah still looks unconvinced, but finally waves them away. “Go back. We will consider what you’ve brought and speak to Michael on what our next move will be.” Both offer the proper motions before they leave, Balthazar waiting until they were further away before letting out a huff. “I can see why Earth is considered so tempting to some. _Are_ you close to figuring things out, Castiel?”

“I have much information, but getting it in a cohesive idea to where we know what it means is…frustrating. Even Dean is uncertain what to make of the symbols.”

_Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar._

“I should get back to Dean. It has been at least a day or two, enough that whatever his brother has to say to him about me, has been said.”

Balthazar snorts. “You owe me for deflecting whatever I can about your Vessel’s origin, Cassie. But they will figure it out, and then I’ll have to answer as well. But enough Hunters are hapless and lazy in their jobs, I can say that it simply didn’t interest me enough to dig deeper.” He gives Castiel a smile. “Take care.”

Castiel smiles and nods to Balthazar, heading to a little ways away from where he can sense Dean standing, finding himself outside of a motel room as he picks up raised voices from inside.

\--

_March 22, 2006_

“This is serious!” Dean argues, upset with how easily Sam and Jess had thrown away his concern. He’d managed to follow them into the healer’s tent after Cas had left, and managed to get there in time to see Jess being healed by the preacher, and…something else, something behind her. Sam had just been happy that Jess was ok, and Jess was happy she was better.

“If there had been something, I would’ve seen it too, Dean,” Sam argues back.

“You don’t see everything, psychic boy wonder, and you weren’t the one being healed,” Dean points out, “Jess saw it too.”

Jess is silent, upset at being brought into this. “Dean, I…I don’t know what I saw. But why do we have to--?”

“Because another person _died_ so you might live!” The two of them visibly flinched, Dean glaring at them both as Sam looks down, as if ashamed. “Because the man believes he’s performing miracles when what he’s really doing is killing others to trade off someone else’s life. Because you both have the fucking _nerve_ to demand that I not police my friends and that I instead have _faith_ in your decisions. Our job is hard, there’s every chance you can die on it.” Another flinch, and Dean isn’t even upset about it as he looks at Jess, “If it hadn’t been you, Jess, it would’ve been Brady, or me, and Sam would’ve apologized to them instead.” He turns, moving to grab his coat but is stopped when Sam speaks up, sounding angry.

“You’re just angry because of that woman you hit on. Or are you strictly Cas’ blowup doll now?”

Dean feels his grip tighten on the jacket, looking down as he lets out a breath. Sam was hurting, was upset that Dean was yelling at them, upset that his bright idea meant he learned something inconvenient to his faith and view. Dean wants to protect others, to have someone with a better destiny take on those months, or years, that he had. He gets Sam’s upset and knows this is his way of lashing out. But the way that he said it, the fact that he even would say such a thing…

“If it hadn’t been Jess, it would’ve been someone else, like that woman I _hit on_. So that kid would’ve died of something else, because he was gay and proud of the fact. You want to bail because you _think_ you know where Dad is and want to get to him instead of helping people. Well, sorry, but I’m not gonna just wait for them to decide someone else is unworthy of living because they aren’t doing what the le Granges think is true to the Bible or whatever. And for the record, Sam, it’s none of your damn business who I blow.”

Dean manages to get to the door and throw it open just as Cas was moving to open it up, the two stopping and staring at each other. Cas looks up at him, blue eyes worried and curious, as Dean looks down at him with some confusion.

“Hey Cas. That thing took longer than last time.”

“Hello Dean,” Cas says, as usual, “and I didn’t mean for it to take so long. How is…” he glances inside the room, then back to Dean, “…everything with Sam and Jess? She looks well.”

Sam shifts to be in front of Jess, as if to protect her, and Dean sighs. He’d had to endure them attempting to convince him that Cas was a bad habit he needed to drop, and attempting to get more out of Dean then Dean was comfortable with sharing. It resulted in him spending more time caring for the Marigold or looking up information on other, odd deaths of healthy people, and that had culminated in this last argument. He moves a bit so Cas can walk in, closing the door behind him before saying, “Cas, what do you know about reapers?”

Cas looks at him, curious, then says, “They are extensions of death and manifestations if that will. Most have no physical form, though some can choose to take one in order to interact with the world. It is their duty to take the souls to their proper final resting spot, though they can only attempt to take them.” He frowns before asking, “Why?”

Sam’s the one who answers, “Dean thinks that there’s a rogue--.”

“Someone tied a reaper to a leash. _I_ think they’re using it to perform ‘miracle healings’,” Dean interrupts, glaring at Sam. Cas seems to catch onto the tension before he speaks again.

“If they are doing that, their soul is as weighed down by the deaths they’ve caused as if they’ve murdered them on their own.”

“Even if they did it to save someone?” Jess asks quietly, looking defiant as Cas looks at her. He stares at her in a way that Dean had come to associate with him using his powers or whatever to see the truth, and he’s not surprised when Cas lets out a breath.

“If the life is given to save another, or with the understanding of what will happen, then that is a high and sacred sacrifice that will allow for healing to occur easily. But a trapped reaper, simply taking that life to heal another deemed ‘worthy’, is still a sin.”

Dean glances at Sam and Jess, both of whom look like they hate hearing this but are also working to think of a way to argue before Dean says, “We can go over there, and then figure out what’s going on. If it’s legit, if it’s just me being paranoid, we can leave.”

Cas nods, looking serious as Sam and Jess appear to consider it before nodding as well. Dean does his best to remain calm as he and Cas walk out to the Impala, Cas looking at the Marigold and smiling a bit while they get in. “It looks healthy, despite your upset.”

“It’s not really an upset,” Dean points out, “just…arguing. I hate that Sam and I are still arguing about this. I don’t know what to tell him.”

As they drive to the muddied area with a large, canvas tent and house in the distance, Cas asks, “Why not tell them the truth?”

Dean lets out a sigh as he finds a place to park, Sam’s car pulling up next to them as Dean finally admits, “I don’t want them to just see you as an angel, Cas. I want them to accept you as my friend, not as some powerful being that hangs out with me until I die so you can take my soul to Heaven or wherever.” He can see Sam and Jess get out, looking over at them as Cas watches Dean, that same deep stare that Dean always likes to see, and after a moment, Dean asks quietly, “You’re my friend first, Cas. My partner in this…whatever it is. You being an angel is…”

“It is simply what I am, but those other two things are more important to you,” Cas says, finishing Dean’s thought, and for one of the first times, Dean sees the angel smile – not a small one, or something hesitant, but a full on, sincere, kind _smile_. “I think of you the same way, Dean – as a friend and partner in this. Everything else…is everything else now.”

Sam knocks loudly on the window, getting Dean to groan and turn, moving to open the door and nearly knocking Sam in the process as Cas also gets out of the car. “What, man, it hasn’t started yet, has it?”

“Dean,” Sam starts, casting a glare at Cas then looking back, worried, at Dean. “No, they haven’t, but you can’t just--.”

“Good, we can go and figure this out, then either fix it or head out, right?” Dean says, closing the door as they nearly run into the lady, Layla, from before. She pauses and looks over at Cas, then back to Dean. “You came back.”

He gives her a small smile. “Yeah, I guess.” He shifts as Sam watches him, motioning to Cas as he comes over. “This is a friend of mine, Cas. Cas, this is Layla.”

Cas nods to her as she gives him a smile, noticing him watching her curiously before he says, “I am sorry for what happened.”

Layla gives him a smile before nodding. “Me too…my mom is upset that…” she lets out a breath. “Well, she’s upset.” Dean glances over to see Sam and Jess nearby, Jess looking worried as Dean gives Layla a smile before seeing another woman with her, on Layla’s arm. She feels familiar, and Dean blinks at her as the woman gives him a smile. “Oh, this is my friend, Mary Beth. She wanted to come and see what’s going on.” The two groups glance over at the sound of two people clearing their throats, getting them to look over at a severe woman standing near Sam and Jess, all three looking sourly at one of two groups.

“Just a friend?” Dean asks curiously, getting Layla and Mary Beth to chuckle a bit.

“Just a friend,” Mary Beth tells him with a warm smile, “and helped out while she was in the hospital. I think her mom is upset that we’ve gone through the acceptance of what’s going on, enough that Layla asked me to come along for today.” She shrugs and the two start to head in, Dean and Cas following after them. Sam and Jess come up next to them, watching the others entering the tent with little interest.

Dean says, “Cas and I can check the house.”

Cas speaks up, saying, “I would like to see the tent. Perhaps you and Jess can look into it? Or you and Sam?”

Dean knows that Cas wants a chance to talk to one of them, and he glances at the two as time becomes more and more limited. “What do you two say?”

Sam looks over at Jess, who finally nods. “I’ll go with Dean.”

“Super,” Dean says before the two of them head out, Cas and Sam going inside of the tent.

\--

The moment they enter the tent, the thing called Castiel stiffens, its eyes darting all around as everyone starts to find seats. Sam watches as they take places in the back, standing near the entrance as Roy le Grange begins. Sam frowns as his mind begins to look for small discrepancies, things that he can find so he’ll be able to look it up, tell Dean it’s nothing, and so they can get going from here. He doesn’t want to believe what Dean’s found, wants to think that this is all just a misunderstanding and Dean is being paranoid and hateful because Sam and Jess are united against that thing that follows him everywhere, but at the same time, when Dean arrived, Castiel hadn’t been around. Sam doesn’t know if that’s because it decided Dean could be away from whatever spell it had on him, or if it’s just that confident in Dean defending him. Sam isn’t sure what Castiel is, so he can’t be sure what exactly it’s done to Dean. He only knows that it’s not human, and that means that it’s not safe for Dean.

Its then he notices the weird Coptic cross nearby – normally those aren’t anywhere near Evangelical churches, and it’s off to the side, near where Sue Ann stands while Roy is healing people. Sam feels his phone vibrate as the voices get louder, so he moves to  back of the tent as he answers. “Yeah?”

“ _Sam…there’s a book on black magic here, really dark stuff,_ ” Jess tells him, “ _and we…there’s an area that might lead to the altar needed to bind a reaper. But Sam…this isn’t Roy’s book. It’s_ Sue Ann’s _. You have to stop him from healing someone, Sam._ ”

Sam swallows and he looks back, the sudden, deep guilt building in him as Roy says, “Layla, my daughter, come here.”

“NO,” the voice, like a crack of thunder, gets everyone and everything to fall still and quiet. Sam looks over at Castiel, who is moving to the aisle, walking down it with purpose, his strides long. Like before, when he’d stopped Sam and Bobby with a word, Sam is suddenly aware of just how _powerful_ the thing is, how _terrifying_.

“I will not allow for this sin to continue while you deceive others, Sue Ann le Grange,” Castiel says, his voice even but carrying enough power that it’s almost like he’s shouting. Sam can hear Jess’ frantic voice over the phone just as the lighting begins to pop, and everyone  ducks in terror as bulbs suddenly flare and spark. Sue Ann is looking at Castiel with anger as she strides forward herself, about to say something, before Castiel speaks again.

“The souls of all those you have falsely healed, have ruined the chance of reaching their final resting place and reward, and the sin of the souls you have taken in order to continue this charade, weigh heavily on your soul. You are not doing God’s work; you are blinded by your power and false beliefs. You weigh down your husband by making him a tool for your selfish pride and arrogance. You _dare_ call yourself a messenger of God? I shall show you a _true_ messenger.”

Dean’s voice sounds from his phone right before the whole tent suddenly is blinded by lights and sound, a sound that gets Sam to cringe and cover his ears, right before he sees the shadows sprouting from Castiel’s back, displaying high and up above, unmistakable as everyone begins to scream, or pray, or simply gasps in awe.

Castiel is showing off huge, shadowed _wings_ , Sam’s powers activating like a sudden defense mechanism, and all he can see around the body is _light_ , blue-white and burning hot, enough to make Sam close his eyes and look away as he hears Sue Ann let out an angry, defiant yell.

“No! You will not judge me for doing _God’s_ work, for saving him when you would not! I have taken the wicked from this earth, I will cleanse it and keep our flock whole and hale, will—“ there is a sound of something shattering, and Sue Ann’s defiant voice suddenly grows quiet.

“A reaper is not a thing to trap without one day losing that control,” a voice, cold and light, “ _A lo hecho, pecho_.”

Silence and darkness fill the tent, Sam finally managing to blink away the remaining spots before he looks up to see what was going on. Near the broken Coptic cross, Sue Ann lies dead. Something in a suit, with hardly any hair, looking older than possible, stands over her before it disappearing without even a sign of its leaving. Castiel still stands where he’d been, looking at something next to Layla, as everyone else remains quiet, Roy holding onto the podium with white knuckles.

The thing that Sam looks at is tall, the light from candles around its hat and the bottom of her dress being the only source in the room, and she slowly walks past Layla, standing before Castiel. “You’re far too dramatic, _angelito_.”

“I do not appreciate those who speak of doing my Father’s will, and instead sully his name and drag others to Hell for it.”

The woman, white and looking like those Day of the Dead candy skulls, smiles before she turns to Roy. “ _Lo siento_ , but you have not been blessed. Had I known that such was happening, I would have come to put an end to this sooner.”

Roy recovers enough to reach out a hand, the woman holding her own smaller one to help lead him down, the congregation watching quietly as he asks, his voice small and nearly silent. “Is there nothing I can do for them now?”

“You bring them faith, and comfort in their beliefs,” the woman says, “And your life and health were given through binding the reaper, not taking another’s. Your years are now your own. Heal what pain has been caused, Roy le Grange, and bring the living and dying that faith. That is all I ask as one who watches over the Dead who are Remembered.”

A few people attempt to speak up, to ask Castiel for healing, as Layla looks at him and, after her mother begins to plead, shakes her head. “I’ve been ready. Please…if there are any others that…I mean…”

Castiel lets out a sigh as he looks around, Dean and Jess coming in as Jess moves over to Sam’s side, and Sam watches as Castiel’s eyes land on Dean, remaining there for a long moment, before he says, “I can give Roy le Grange the blessing of Heaven. If it is that time, or they may be healed, then it will be so.” He looks to Roy. “But it will be painful. It is through your own soul and spirit, your belief, that such a blessing will come and be renewed. If you falter, if they are unworthy, or if their time has come, nothing will change it.”

Roy let out a chuckle. “I’d have taken nothing else but such a blessing.”

As everyone watches, Castiel puts two fingers against Roy’s forehead, the glow back for only a moment before Roy staggers, held up by the angel and the goddess. “Thank you.”

Layla moves to take the spot of the two, supporting Roy as he swallows and says, “I…believe nothing else I can say will suffice for this sermon. Go with God, and love each other as neighbors. Even if I cannot heal you, I hope you will come for as long as you are able.”

\--

They all walk out as Dean looks at La Muerte, his concern showing as he tells her, “I didn’t realize you were here. I just thought that girl was…I guess someone else?”

Sam looks like he wanted to ask something, but La Muerte’s chuckle stops his question. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, Dean. Even if we’re nearing the halfway point,” she lets out a sigh as Sam shifts, moving in front of them and getting Dean and the others to stop, Jess looking worried while Sam looks up at La Muerte with concern and hope.

“You’re one of them…one of the ones who brought Dean back. Please…please, I’ll do anything, if you just…if he…”

La Muerte reaches out, touching Sam’s face and getting him to fall silent as tears fall down, his upset obvious as he continues to look up at her, afraid and sad. “Please. I screwed up, I was scared and I…I can’t let him die.”

“ _Pobresito_ ,” La Muerte tells him, calm as she continues, “Even on my holy days, I can only do so much. Your brother’s time was over, and as much as I want to give him that time back, I cannot. When the time is up, his fate is up to those who are vying for his soul.”

Sam looks at Dean and Cas, then back to La Muerte. “Then…I can…”

“You have nothing to wager in this, Sam,” she tells him simply, “You must accept his choice, and yours, and the consequences of that. To try to hold back death will only do to your soul what happened to Sue Ann le Grange, and you will become what you abhor, what has hunted you and your friends, the demon that killed your mother and has been attempting to watch you for so long.”

That stops Sam short, Dean looking down as he swallows and says, quietly, “A demon gave me these powers? He gave them to the others too?”

“ _Si._ It’s his plot to make you all as demonic as he is, but to keep enough humanity that you might work for him. Some would say,” she glances briefly at Castiel, then back to Sam, “that such powers, because they were given by a demon, are naturally demonic.” She finally smiles and says, “I do have a wager for you.”

Sam looks up at her, happy and expectant, as she tells him, “Your powers come from a demon but he tied them to your emotions, not remembering that humans have positive and negative emotions. When my power is strongest, I will make this wager to ensure you and your blood-siblings are able to avoid the darker aspects, if that is what you desire. However, I ask for now that you speak with your brother before we even consider such a thing. Will you accept this? That nearing six months from now, we will have such a wager, so long as you speak to your brother on these things?”

Sam swallows, looking at Jess, then to Dean, and finally back to La Muerte. “Yes. I…I want to help him, but if…” he shakes his head. “I have to accept this. If something like what happened with the le Granges happens again…” he again stops, looking down, and finally back into La Muerte’s eyes. “Yes. I’ll do this. I’ll do my best to accept this.”

She smiles and leans forward, kissing his forehead. “That is all I ask.”

\--

Dean’s a bit surprised that Sam doesn’t demand they talk until they get back to the motel, and by that point it’s actually a good talk, one of understanding that feels like a breath of fresh air for them. Dean’s just as grateful that Jess and Cas wait outside, despite the fact that Sam was a bit forceful in his request. Still, Dean knows that he is trying, and has to admit that after so many years of Sam getting his way,  his acceptance t of Dean’s wishes is a welcome change.

Of course, Dean isn’t sure how much of it Sam accepts, and how much Sam is just pushing onto Cas’ shoulders in the hopes the Angel would be able to save Dean when Sam can’t. It isn’t something Dean wants to dwell on - the reminder of how little time he had left, that so far Dad hadn’t contacted him or Sam save for a text or changing a voicemail, made him wonder if going to try to find Dad was even worth it. They know the demon that had attacked them, and they know it will come after Sam again, as well as after others like him. Sam is getting ready to go and find his fellow ‘special’ children to ensure their safety, and to live up to what La Muerte had bet him on. It gave him something to do, and if Dean knew Sammy, he pushed himself hard if he was given a job that he enjoyed. Saving others and helping himself? Sam was going to take to that like a duck to water.

They end up staying one more night in the shared hotel room, Dean looking into other cases while Sam fills in Brady and Bobby on how Jess is, as well as some of what happened. At a brief question of, “Dean can explain it...when he gets there…” and a look at Dean, pleading and hopeful, Dean finally nods. He was fine with Bobby knowing, but it did feel like something you had to say face-to-face, not over the phone.

It’s somewhere around 5am when his phone rings, Dean letting out a groan as he turns, glaring at it. Sam and Jess are in the next bed, cuddled around each other, but Sam is at least more awake than Dean. Sitting on the same bed as Dean, Cas looks at the phone curiously, though he doesn’t answer it. Dean has to guess that Cas just hates using cell phones, since he never answers or uses them himself.

“Sammy, get that wouldya?” Dean mutters, turning over and curling up around Cas, falling back to sleep from the nearness and warmth of the other man...angel. So yeah, maybe they spend quite a few nights like this, and Dean likes how nice Cas feels, even if he is sitting up doing whatever. Sam is a big boy, he can handle it.

Sam mutters something that Dean barely hears before he answers the phone, sleepily asking, “Hello?” before there is a shift, and Dean is suddenly wide awake.

“Dad?”


	4. What You Fear the Most

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse after the call from John Winchester, and Heaven takes it upon themselves to interfere. This also ends badly, and leaves both Dean and Castiel isolated as Dean's borrowed time comes closer to an end.

Sam is surprised to hear Dad’s voice, and he’s sure that surprise is what wakes up Jess and Dean. Castiel is already watching, his blue eyes intense as Sam shifts, moving to sit where he can listen as Dean gets up, untangling himself from the sheets and from around Castiel so quickly that it nearly makes Sam flinch. Just the mention of Dad is almost enough to throw Dean back into the person Sam had thrown out of his apartment six months ago, and Sam has a sudden, deep dislike of it. All that he’d learned, all that Jess and Brady had helped him with, everything he learned from the Roadhouse and Bobby, made Sam realize how paranoid and self-serving their Dad was. After learning about the shtriga, Sam had wanted nothing to do with Dad. Now, _months_ later, after changing his voicemail to tell others to call _Sam_ , not Dean, after texting Dean the location of a monster Dad decided was _Dean’s_ problem, not his, Dad has the _audacity_ to call up Dean and sounds almost _proud_ that Sam is there instead?

“Are you hurt?”

“ _I’m fine._ ”

“We’ve been looking for you,” Sam says, seeing Dean look at him expectantly, “There’s a lot that’s going on.”

“ _I know. I know about what happened with that girl,_ ” Sam stiffens, jaw tightening at the mention of Brady’s girlfriend and her awful fate, “ _I just want to make sure you and Dean are fine._ ”

_We’re not._ Sam thinks bitterly, _Dean’s dying and I’m tainted by demon’s blood, or did you already know that?_

Sam glances at Dean, then lets out a breath, instead asking, “Where are you?”

“ _I can’t tell you that._ ”

“You’re going after the thing that killed Mom, aren’t you? The demon.”

Dad is quiet on the other line, obviously upset, but Sam finds he isn’t affected by it like he would have been before. He’s angry at Dad for not calling, for not _knowing_ about Dean, but somehow knowing about Sam and his issues. It’s suddenly all too clear, the fact that Sam had overlooked for all of his childhood, and he hates himself for it.

_Dad was never disappointed in you._

“ _I am, and you can’t come with me. It’s too dangerous, Sam. I need you to get Dean and keep doing your job._ ”

“ _Our_ job? This was not _our_ job, Dad, and I don’t care what you think, I’m coming to help you.”

“ _I gave you an order!_ ”

“You don’t get to order me around, I’m not nine anymore,” Sam growls out, “and I know you know shit about demons because you haven’t gone to talk to Bobby about it, and he’s the fucking _expert_.”

“ _Sam, you can’t keep looking for me, neither of you. This is bigger than you think, they’re everywhere and calling you is a big enough risk! Now listen, take down these names--._ ”

Sam nearly hangs up on him, instead not even bothering to take the names down as his father rattles them off, finally asking, “ _Did you get that, Sam?_ ”

Sam hangs up, nearly flinging the phone away but instead managing to set it down on the table as Dean asks, his voice tight. “What’d he say?”

“He gave names,” Sam says, shaking his head, “and told us to go to Indiana, and not look for him. Said it was too dangerous, that there were too many demons or something after him.”

Castiel is silent before he tells Sam, “Your father is a target because he has not shielded himself sufficiently - I can find him easily simply through that call, and any demon who is able to listen to such calls would pick up on it.”

Jess looks at Castiel as Dean lets out a sigh, appearing resigned to the whole thing. Sam hates that, hates that his brother is so unhappy and silent over the whole thing, that Dad just assumed Dean was here because Sam answered his phone, and…

“He’s in Sacramento,” Castiel tells them, getting the two brothers to look at him, “and will possibly be there a few days. To send you to Indiana during such a crucial time, and to not contact someone who understands fully the dangers of demons, is hubris on his part.” Castiel finally stands, moving over to the hotel stationary before drawing up a few things, taking the page off and handing it to Sam. “No matter your bet with La Muerte, you are still in danger of demonic possession. I know you and the others have anti-possession tattoos after what happened with Brady, but these will aid you more in not only fighting demons, but also exorcising them swiftly if you catch one.”

Sam blinks at the strange letters, the phonetic lettering underneath showing him how to pronounce each word, and other designs reminding him of the modified Devil’s Trap that he’d managed to draw on the Charger’s trunk and other areas. “This is...a way to trap demons?”

“It is a stronger incantation. The demon whom John Winchester is after is a fairly powerful one, though not the most powerful. This,” he points to the paper, “will help.”

Sam lets out a snort. “You really think he’ll listen to us?”

Dean sighs, getting everyone’s attention. “He’ll listen to you. You’re stubborn enough that he does. He doesn’t listen to me. Hell, I’m kinda amazed he knew my number.”

Sam is silent a longer moment before he asks, “Do you need the names?”

Castiel is the one who answers, “I have them. We can easily figure out where they went.”

Sleep interrupted and mood soured, the group begins to get ready for their day, Sam waiting until Jess is in the shower and Castiel is outside waiting for Dean before he says, “Windom, Minnesota. You know what’s there, don’t you?”

Dean is silent before he nods. “I know.”

“If you’re up there, if this is bigger than Dad realizes...could you…?”

Dean lets out a long sigh. “I won’t like it...but yeah, I will.”

\--

_Burkittsville, Indiana_

_April 10, 2006_

It hadn’t taken long - a visit to a nearby library, a talk with an older local who was surprisingly chatty, and finding more than just the few names that Dad had provided - before Dean had gotten a great picture of the town even before they arrived. It makes him wonder about Dad’s methods, and how he’d been told so often that Dad was a ‘master hunter’ for putting things together. The way that Dean had worked with Cas, realizing his time was short or that he wanted to stay somewhere only a short period of time, had meant he’d devote a day or more into research before he got somewhere, not wanting to be caught off-guard again. Dad simply found random names and decided to link them to this one spot in Indiana, a place known for it’s apples and hazelnut trees, without any warning of what might come.

Dean parks the Impala just outside of the sole restaurant in town, a place called Scotty’s, as he and Cas get out. Dean sees Cas look around before he says, “We should stop to get some food, Cas. Before we get going again.”

“If you say so,” Cas says with a nod, looking around like he was suspicious of the whole place. Dean offers him a smile before walking over, shifting enough to give him a quick, but very visible, peck on the cheek. If they wanted to keep any other couple safe, they had to pretend to be civvies and oblivious to the danger. Hopefully the town’s policy of getting a man and woman couple would turn to desperation, since roadwork was making the backway near-closed.

“I know it’s been a long day, but humor me, ok?”

Cas looks at him for a moment before nodding, shifting and awkwardly returning the kiss on the cheek before pointing to the gift shop/gas station next to Scotty’s. “I’ll just be a moment.”

“‘Kay,” Dean says with a smile. If he was using this whole couple thing as an excuse to be near Cas, to actually kiss him, even if it was just a brief peck on the cheek, and feel like they were more than just friends...well, that wasn’t anyone else’s business.

He gives the glaring man, presumably the owner of the restaurant, a small smile. “So, lemme guess...Scotty?”

“Yep,” the man says, still glaring at Dean as Dean offers a larger smile.

“Awesome. Hey, what’s good here? We thought there’d be less space between the last two towns, so my car,” he pats the Impala, “and me are kinda hungry.”

Scotty looks at him and then back to where Cas had gone. “You two together?”

Dean offers a tight smile. “For about a year, yeah. I needed to get somewhere and convinced him to come along, but I don’t have GPS and he sucks at reading maps, not to mention with that construction going on...hell, I’m amazed we even got here.”

Scotty nods, his lips tightening into a grimace at the mention of the construction. “Yeah. Dunno what they’re thinkin’, doing that work now of all times.”

Cas comes out then, Dean turning and smiling at him. “Find what you need?”

“They gave me directions, but we should be able to relax for a bit. Do you want to get something to eat?”

Dean nods, “Yeah, Scotty here,” he motions, “was telling me that his food’s pretty good.”

Scotty seems to suddenly perk up as Cas returns Dean’s smile, inviting the two in happily before he says, “Actually, while you eat, why not have the guys next door fill up your car and give it a quick check? You can never know on these back roads when you might need help.”

Dean manages to smile, despite the alarm bells ringing in his mind. “Sounds like a plan. Thanks a bunch, Scotty.”

They sit down and despite Dean’s order of coffee, they get cider and Scotty’s simple statement of “we’re known for our apples” before more food comes out - someone forgot, there was extra, just somethin’ for the road - and Dean is torn between refusing as much of it as he can, and that childhood feeling that if you have food, any food, placed before you, you eat it and don’t complain, because who knew when he’d next get a filling meal? One that wasn’t ruined when Sammy decided he wanted something else instead, or when Dad didn’t come back and money ran low.

Cas looks at Dean, and reaches to take his hand, entwining their fingers. Dean can almost feel the power that he’s using, keeping Dean safe from whatever might be in the food, before he reaches and picks up some shredded roast beef and a helping of mashed potatoes, holding the fork up so Dean can take a bite.

The food is not the best in the world. The apple pie’s crust probably needs a helping of cheese, if not a sprinkling of sugar to make it crispier. The cider is overly-sweet and Dean has a deep urge to put salt on _everything_. He’s not sure if it’s the fact that it was ‘free’ or mojo from the pagan god, but he doubts anyone really likes the food here. Cas had let go of his hand after the first few bites, but holds it again when Dean finally tries the cider and, at the end, when he helps himself to a slice of the pie.

They head out as the man from the place next door finishes filling up the tank, smiling at them as Dean frowns, looking around. It’s almost sundown, and the young teen he’d seen earlier is gone. He doesn’t ask as he sees Cas give him a look, instead smiling and saying, “Thanks for all the help, man. You guys are lifesavers, I swear.”

The smile is overly-happy, in a way that reminds Dean of Stepford wives, and the man says, “Not at all. So, heading back to the interstate?”

“We need to get moving, and we’ll have a better chance of finding a motel there,” Cas points out, looking annoyed at the questions before the man nods, quickly outlining the ‘best route’ out of town.

Dean thanks them again, and gets into the Impala, driving off right before he shakes his head, swallowing. “There was a girl…”

“I believe she is trapped in the orchard, in case two male sacrifices aren’t worthy. Also--.”

“I know,” he’d heard the issue in the Impala’s purr as it started up, “we need to fix this first. I can get the car fixed in under an hour, no matter what they did to it.”

The Impala stops right as they get to where Cas is looking out, worried, and nods towards the area. “The Scarecrow is the vessel the tainted god is using.” They get out, Cas looking around, the darkness making his eyes glow, before they hear a girl crying nearby. Dean had already pulled out a gun, and reaches into his back seat to grab the shotgun hidden there as well. To one side, he sees the Marigold, looking bright in the darkness. “Cas…”

“I can deal with a tainted god, even at it’s peak time and home turf,” Cas says with confidence, “get the girl.”

Dean nods, the two racing the moment they reach the orchard, Dean breaking off to head towards the hazelnut trees and the sobbing while Cas strides purposefully through the apple trees. The Scarecrow-thing turns to look at the angel, letting out a sound that sends Dean’s heart racing and the girl into heavier, shakier sobs as the two supernatural beings square off. He reaches her quickly, holding up a hand as he puts the shotgun down and reaches up to start freeing her, quietly saying, “Ok, if we get to the road and car, we should be safe, got it? I need you to run as fast as you can, you’ll see a black Impala out there. Get there and hide in the back.”

“T-they...they…”

“I know,” he doesn’t, but it seems to calm her down, “we’re all leaving. You don’t have to go back.”

The two rush out as Dean soon as the girl is free, Dean directing her to the Impala as he goes to check on Cas. Dean sees the Scarecrow trying to come at them as Cas appears, easily tossing it aside. The angel’s wings, darker shadows in the night, flare high as Cas kneels down and put his hands on the dirt. Dean barely manages to get out of the orchard before he sees the explosion of blue-white light that lit up the sky. He turns his face away right before the trees go up in flames. He races back to the Impala, hoping that Cas would come out the moment he is ready, and stops short when he sees the tall, suited man standing next to his car, the Marigold in one hand, and the distraught, flailing, scared girl in his other.

“Hey!” Dean yells, raising his shotgun as a warning. He has to get lucky on this shot, or else the girl will be hit as well. She doesn’t need to be hurt by her rescuers on top of everything else that happened in her shitty day. The man looks at Dean with disdain, glancing between the Marigold and the girl as he smirks, not letting either go. Instead, he raises up the girl a little more, seems to squeeze a bit more, and Dean tightens his own grip on the shotgun. The best shot meant going through the Marigold, and it would at least keep the girl safe.

Dean doesn’t hesitate, and shoots.

\--

“I can see now why _mi amor_ and the Candlemaker had such a hard time with you Angels,” the voice drips like oil as Castiel stops, panting and shaking from his use of Grace. The god had been rooted and stubborn, and removing it from only the orchard, not the town, had required a great deal of concentration and care. It meant that even now, at the place where this particular god should be his weakest, Castiel isn’t sure he could even manage to defend himself.

Uriel’s hands are covered in dirt and familiar broken pottery, his Grace bubbling from whatever he’d been doing and as he struggles, kept in place. The Marigold lies torn on the ground, mirroring Dean’s fallen position, the once-vibrant orange and yellows now fading away and turning ashen. Near the Impala, the young woman Dean had gone to save is unconscious on the ground, looking unhurt, face turned away from them. Xibalba’s clawed hand is in Uriel’s chest, holding the other angel still as Uriel looks to Castiel, pleading silently, as Castiel moves to kneel next to Dean.

Everything - the burned Page, the roots the Marigold had used to hold his soul in place - all of it is gone. The trace of familiar grace is all Castiel needs to know why Xibalba is there, and knowing it, seeing the gashes it had made in Dean’s soul, causes Castiel to look up at Uriel with disbelief and confusion. Why had he attacked Dean in such a way? Why was he here?

“The bet was a simple one, and yet you have persisted in making it so no one will win,” Xibalba continues, shifting to lift Uriel up as the other angel gasps, the pain obviously something Uriel had never experienced before. “ _Mi amor_ is kind to your fellow angel, and yet you harmed her gift to the point of nearly destroying our work. The Candlemaker is straightforward and gave you the answers, and yet you ignored and kept all the warning signs to yourself, failing your fellows,” Xibalba looks at Castiel when he says this, eyes narrowing as he growls out, “I am not so nice, _angelitos_.”

“Uriel,” Castiel starts, seeing his fellow angel attempt to speak, only to be cut off by Xibalba’s hold on him. “Uriel, what have you done?”

Uriel’s pleading look turns to a glare as Xibalba speaks, “Are you so unhappy that a _mud monkey_ has more of a claim on your fellow Angel than you do? Is that what you fear, or something else?” Xibalba meets Uriel’s glare without any signs of fear, and the death god suddenly chuckles at whatever he’s seen. Zachariah had arrived, at first appearing smug but then freezing when he surveys the scene, seeing Xibalba holding Uriel, just as the god speaks again.

“Heaven will have to forfeit their claim on the soul. Congratulations, Michael now has lost his Vessel, and the Righteous Man will go, and remain, in Hell to become the worst of demons, ready just in time to land the final blow in your little spat you all so want to have. Unless, of course, they lose too…but I doubt that will happen.”

“This is _not_ for you to decide!” Zachariah yells out as Castiel shifts to look over Dean, seeing how quickly the wax and candle that represent Dean’s soul are flaring out. “This is Castiel’s fault!” He had to do something, or else Dean would die, months in advance of his time, and his soul would--.

“Is it? How curious. I could have sworn the Grace that is causing the Soul to go to my realm belonged to this one. But if that is true, then Castiel will have to fix it, won’t he?”

Castiel suddenly remembers the Book, and what it had shown him about Dean’s fate. He thinks of the three fates, of the three gifts, and the last one that they didn’t know, the one given to the Vessel that he might never be now…because of Uriel, and Zachariah…and Castiel’s folly inby telling them anything.

Castiel reaches down, gripping Dean’s left shoulder tightly, as he begins to pour in his remaining Grace. He hears Zachariah call out his name in anger, hears Uriel attempt to speak, and somehow, through all of it and the roaring in his ears as he pushes himself, further than he had ever been pushed, he hears a dark chuckle, and Xibalba’s voice.

“Ah...there we go, and there is that fear.”

Dean opens his eyes with a gasp as Castiel watches, seeing his soul and body heal, seeing everything, every memory and thought, deep desire and self-hatred, and seeing…

There is a locked box, and around it a tar-pit, as dark as foreboding as Xibalba himself, that Castiel can’t reach. He doesn’t try, instead finding himself looking back at Dean, feeling his wings spread and falling down, his own Grace exhausted after everything, but...there’s still the girl....He has to help her too, as much as he must help Dean, because that was what Father had told them, to watch over--.

Castiel blinks, confused, before looking up as Xibalba removes his hand from Uriel’s chest, letting the other angel fall to the ground. Zachariah approaches slowly as the tar-god moves to Castiel and crouches down, looking him in the eyes.

“You’ve tied yourself to that soul, _angelito_. Your kin’s actions means the bet is off. Dean’s soul, and now your Grace, is mine to claim, as his status has not changed, and the demons cannot say what they know of the three gifts.”

“NO!” Uriel gasps out, attempting to rise but failing to do so. Castiel thinks of what he’d seen through Dean’s memories, and knows Uriel would be punished for this, since he would be trapped by Xibalba. At the same time, horrible realizations move through him as he looks at his superior, who stands nearby looking angry.

If Zachariah was here, he had to have authorized Uriel’s actions, as much as he’d attempted to put the blame on Castiel. Heaven knows the rules…and having failed to break them, would allow Castiel to die if it means saving Zachariah’s status.

Castiel’s eyes go back to Xibalba, his determination to keep Dean safe, to protect him and his bright soul, giving him strength. “I...wish to make you a wager.”

Xibalba laughs, his wings spreading wide in mirth as Dean looks up at Castiel, worry pouring from him. Castiel watched the pagan god. “What do _you_ have that I would want? Dean’s soul?” Xibalba puts his two-headed staff down near them, one hand stroking the head as it comes to life, slithering and wrapping around the two tightly, holding them in place. “Even angels are Forgotten, and I can take both of you _now_ if it amuses me. But give it a try, _angelito._ Tell me your wager.”

Xibalba watches the snakes hissing angrily, both heads tensed near Dean and Castiel’s necks. If Xibalba does not get a wager he wants, the snakes would strike, and there would be no return from that. Castiel knows that.

“The demon Azazel has with him another, one that has spoken to him of a certain medal it gained and lost, turning itself covetous and greedy before it was killed by three heroes of a town, one of whom had that same medal, given by a death god.”

Xibalba smirks at that. “You are a _smart one_ , aren’t you?” The medal is small in Xibalba’s hands, shining with the same green energy and darkness that he possessed, and unmistakable as the source of his strength, even during the time when his power should be weakest. “This works on any being, and will cause nothing to harm them, not even what they are weakest against. Are you asking for it, _angelito?_ ”

Castiel glances briefly at Uriel and Zachariah, back down to Dean and the angry, hissing snake near his neck, then back up to Xibalba. “No.”

“Then _what_ is your wager?”

“Dean and I will gain a way to destroy the demon - a _human way_ \- and you will allow Heaven its part in the wager. I will not speak to them or ask for their aid in this quest.”

Xibalba chuckles, the snakes still holding them in place as he looks at the two. “ _Te gusto_ , _angelito_. You might be the bright spot in my year. I agree to your terms, but Heaven will be punished for their trespass. Their interference resulted in the destruction of _el cempasúchil de mi amor_ , so it’s only fitting that an angel be destroyed as well.”

Castiel draws in a breath, his eyes darting to Uriel before he counters, “If I am to stay here, and find such a thing in a human way, should I not also have only the powers of a human?” He sees Uriel stiffen in surprise and fear. “We will search for this and...I will have my power at the level it is now. I will not speak to Heaven or give any reports to it or any other agent. I will bind myself to the Earth, and to Dean, but allow Heaven to keep their part in the original wager.”

“NO!” Uriel shouts, stopping when Xibalba glares at him before looking back curiously at Castiel.

“You will accept the burden of your brother’s failure and your supervisor’s hubris? You would bind yourself to Earth, and this human, in order to just keep Heaven’s place in this bet?”

Castiel nods.

“And you do this to keep Uriel from harm, either mine or Heaven’s, so that you might aid Dean ending the monster that so cursed his family?” Xibalba’s eyes lock onto Castiel’s after the angel’s final nod, and the death-god snaps his fingers.

The snake darts away, reforming into a staff as Xibalba straightens, chuckling in dark delight. “ _Muy interestante_...I accept your bet, _angelito._ Remain earth-bound, find your weapon to defeat the demons. But know this - you have three weeks to find the weapon, three months to find and kill the demon once named Chakal, and the remaining three months after to prepare yourselves for the end of the wager. Fail within that time given, and I get angelic grace to light my dark caves, unless Hell gives up their understanding of the gifts given and destroyed by Heaven’s hubris.”

Xibalba turns to Uriel and Zachariah, his mood souring as he looks at the other two angels. “My power may not fully extend into Heaven, but we hold that actions have consequences, so you’d best remember that he is taking on the burden of _your_ failings and actions, Uriel, and your decision to allow it, Zachariah. Be grateful that he was fast enough to think of a way to keep _Miguelito_ in on the wager.” Xibalba’s voice grows low and menacing as he walks up to them, the staff letting out a hiss, “But make no mistake, _pendejos_ , if you break this deal, that Grace of your best will turn to dust in _my_ realm, no matter where else the Righteous Man’s soul resides. I will see to it personally.”

\--

_April 15, 2006_

_Windom, Minnesota_

Dean hasn’t spoken to Cas about what happened, about the handprint that is now burned into his shoulder where Cas had grabbed him before pouring his power into Dean. He doesn’t talk to him about how stupid it is, how he shouldn’t have even considered this was a good idea when he’s apparently the only good angel left in Heaven, and someone needs to be that. Instead, Dean does what research he can, calls up the few contacts of Dad’s that still talk to him, and tries his damndest to not think or talk about how his idiocy and carelessness has basically dragged down an angel.

Kate Milligan had been nice enough to let them stay when they’d arrived and Dean had explained who he was. Adam, for his part, had been wary of Dean but after learning who he was, had seemed curious about him and about Dad. He wasn’t a fan of Dad, not really, but he’d picked up on Dean not being a fan either. It doesn’t take long to get out of Kate why Dad had been there, and even less time for Cas and he to take out the few remaining ghouls and a random vengeful spirit in the town, the local police officer who’d also helped Dad lending a hand after a he’d been asked for help.

“You’re better at this then your Daddy,” Sheriff Barton tells Dean after they clear out the final ghoul, Dean giving him the information he’d actually need for noticing when or if the bastards came back. Cas had torched them with what Grace he had after old-fashioned, normal Human work had managed to discover where they were. Kate had offered them a place to stay, and Adam had needed to learn a few things. Well, not really, but it’d given Dean something to do, and Adam had been really excited to learn self-defense. Dean tells Cas that it’s also a good time for him to learn his limits, learn what he needs to do to survive, and it gives him access to a local, but well-stocked, library, not to mention a good internet connection and a chance to get home-cooked food.

Well, more it is Dean’s chance to cook, since Kate is super-busy as a nurse but has done her best to keep good food around for her son. Cas seems to find Dean’s interest in cooking, in figuring out things or getting a recipe right. He really likes the burgers that Dean makes, and so far hasn’t complained about even _needing_ the food, even if it was less often than most humans. Adam has basically inhaled anything that Dean puts in front of him, and Kate just seems happy to have a helper.

Dean lets out a long, annoyed sigh as he hangs up the phone, shaking his head as he does and muttering, “Fuckin’ Elkins,” before he glances up over at where Cas is coming over, looking worried. “Anything?”

“Balthazar believes that our best bet is the Colt, as other items would require us to either create a specialized weapon, or that item itself is not existent. He knows that Elkins has it, but cannot aid us beyond that.”

“Yeah, well, Elkins isn’t gonna give it up. I tried to get it from him, but he just said that he’d only give it to my Dad.” Dean shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter that it’s for the same damned cause, or that Elkins isn’t gonna use it.” He lets out a long sigh. “So…how up are you for going to Colorado and stealing it?”

Cas seems unfazed by Dean’s suggestion, walking up to him and finally sitting down across from Dean before he asks, “Dean…what did he really say?”

Dean looks down, shifting as he let out a long sigh, wishing for a beer or something. He hates that Cas can pick up on his emotions, that he knows him even better now, and that Dean has nowhere to hide. At the same time, he is almost grateful for the way that Cas makes him talk about things, for the gentle prodding and curious nature that Cas shows, and that all of his concern is directed at Dean. It was selfish, but Dean loves it anyway.

“Elkins said he wasn’t gonna let _something like me_ near him,” Dean finally explains, looking down, “said that he’d already sent the information out to Dad, that the moment Dad got to Colorado, _he’d_ get the Colt so he could…could put me down.”

Cas is quiet as Dean continues, slumping a bit in his chair, “I don’t doubt that’s what Dad’ll do too. That he’ll see me or you and he’ll just…shoot. I can’t…we don’t…” Dean shakes his head, trying to clear the image, the idea, of Cas being killed by something like that. Cas is an Angel, and nothing had stands up to him…not until Xibalba, not until he’d tied himself to Dean and got stuck here because Dean was an idiot and had believed—

“Dean,” Cas’ voice brings him back to the present, looking over at the angel, his eyes caught by the deep, bright blue ones as Cas continues, “it was my choice to accept the consequences, and it was my fault that Uriel knew of the Marigold. You shouldn’t worry. I know what I can do, and I know my limits. Even if your father attacks us, I will be able to protect us. I promise you.”

“You can’t…I mean…”

“I would not have taken the risk if you were not worth it, Dean. Not just because of what Heaven believed, or what your fates are, but because _you_ are worth it.”

Dean finds himself shaking, suddenly aware of how close they are, and all he wants is to kiss him. What was keeping him from it? Dad wouldn’t care anymore if he thought Dean was a fag, not if he thought Dean was a thing instead. It wouldn’t matter now, would it? All that might matter is if Cas rejected that part, but Dean could accept that.

He leans the rest of the way, Cas blinking right before their lips meet. The kiss is light, tentative, curious, and Dean shifts away to look over at Cas, swallowing as he says, “I…I’m…”

Cas leans in, and the same tentative kiss that Dean had given the angel is returned. Dean moves to put one hand on Cas’ arm, Cas’ hand going up to the mark he’d left on Dean’s shoulder. Even through the shirt, Dean feels an electric jolt, the same type that he’d felt when Cas had brought him back and tied them together. Dean draws in a breath, wanting to go further but not sure if they should. He doesn’t know how much Cas knows, if he would be teaching Cas everything, and that scares him.

Cas moves back, hand shifting away and allowing Dean to breathe easier, head feeling clearer as Cas says, “I will be fine with whatever you want, Dean. I promise if I’m not, I would speak to you about it.”

“’kay,” Dean mutters, still surprised at his luck and horrible timing. His dad was going to think of him as a pervert and a thing to be killed. Sam was very likely unhappy with the whole thing, and in six months, he would probably be dead.

Dean leans in, putting his head on Cas’ shoulder, and finally says, “Still wanna go steal from an old hunter in Colorado?”

“I believe that is what we must do.”

“Awesome.”

\--

Meg lets out a sigh as she dumps out the blood she’d used to call her father, the answers annoying her far more than she’d like to admit. Azazel is a powerful demon, had saved her from Alistair’s ‘kindness’ and from the continued torture of the Rack, and she is forever grateful for his guidance and the power that came from becoming his child and, thus, his eyes and ears on Earth. Inside of her, the soul of Meg Masters continues to weep – the damage done to her body has yet to cause Meg’s soul to leave it, and as much as Meg would like to say that she has her own name, she…likes…Meg’s name as her own. If she remembers her own, or her gender, it is a memory now that she doesn’t care to visit because that means remembering being _human_ , and such things bring up memories of Alistair and his torment. She’d like to remain on Earth and cause some havoc, _not_ return to Hell and whatever displeasure Azazel would visit on her for failing and being found out.

The last call and talk, though, had just resulted in Meg wondering what the hell the actual plan _was_. Azazel’s orders are the same as before, despite the fact that rumor said Dean has the Colt and, thus, the key to opening the Hellsgate. But none of that had mattered - Dean Winchester’s soul was up to others to get hold of, and if he died then it would mean that he could always trade with John Winchester for said soul, so long as Heaven couldn’t lay claim to it. Azazel hadn’t cared about the lack of information on John Winchester either - he’d called up a particularly angry and violent demon to work with Meg on keeping Winchester’s attention while Azazel did his own thing. Of course, telling her father that Chakal failed in even that, instead spending all of his time going after some freakin’ medal or something that he’d gotten in his human life and trying to find the descendants of those who killed him, had been waved off too. The man had been an blunt instrument in life, and now he is far from that, but it means that Meg has to carry the lion’s share of the work. She has everything to get Winchester’s soul, she _knows_ where he is and where his family is, and, more importantly, she’s in good with Sammy and his girl. Two or three good shots, and she’d have Sammy for a fun meatsuit, if not Dadchester to deal with, though Sammy is taller and in better with most of the hunters she wants to kill. Not to mention she really wants to mess with Brady, to see him frightened and begging. If he’d not fought back and alerted Sam, then she’d have a _better_ guy to help her topside, not Chakal or half the other lazy dumbasses that Azazel had brought up when he returned to Earth.

The windowless van that she’d been picked up in is in no way her style, so she begins to walk a bit, using her powers to ‘skip’ ahead to a section of road that would allow her to claim plausible deniability if anyone noticed and decided to call in the dead meatsuit. It doesn’t take long for a new car to drive by, this one a dark low-rider that has in it three old men - one is large, taking up almost all of the driver’s seat, while another looks old and worn, the final one small in comparison to the three.

“ _Oye, mami_ ,” the fat one says, his voice jovial and making Meg smile almost unconsciously, “where you going?”

“Away. You?”

The three men laugh. “We’re always away!” one jokes as the others let out laughs and hoots like those mariachi bands. Meg smiles despite herself, the older one saying, “You gonna come with us? You sing?”

She blinks at that, but nods as there is more cheering.

“Hop in, _mami_ , we’re gonna have fun!” the fat one says again, the older man moving to open the far door so she can get in. She debates leaving these three alive, the allure of it one she hadn’t felt before as they begin to drive, a random mix tape of current, old, and traditional music playing as they drive, laugh, and joke. The old man in the back with her pulls out a bottle of good tequila and a half-drunk bottle of cheap tequila, the two who weren’t driving sharing the half-drunk bottle while she got dibs on opening and trying the better tequila. It happily burns down her throat, even as the soul that originally had the body wails and cries over the possible deaths of these three and how far she’s fallen with such a demon inside of her.

It doesn’t take long for the low-rider to pull up near an out-of-the-way taco truck, the person inside throwing something at the largest of the three and yelling out in quick Spanish, answered back as they point and apparently try to use her to make their case. The gruff man lets out more strings of Spanish before disappearing inside, the larger of the brothers laughing. “He’s such a kidder.”

That brings the older man back to drop down various tacos and burritos, the trio rushing up to get them as Meg slowly walks over to look up at the old man, noticing his wide nose and face full of larger cyst growths and black heads. His dark eyes are annoyed as she gets up, speaking something rapidly in Spanish and, when she doesn’t answer, finally asking with an annoyed growl, “Well, what do you want?”

“What do you have?” she asks, equally annoyed.

That stops the man, and he leans over the counter, looking down at her for a long moment before saying, “I have a lot of things. What do you want?”

Something in Meg - probably her built-up magical power, gained over centuries of torture and torment in Hell with some hard teachings from Alistair and Azazel - tells her to be careful. Something about this placement, about the men who brought her here and the man before her, is setting off alarm bells. She glances around, not finding a menu or anything else, and swallows before she says, “I’m not hungry.”

Meg thanks the trio of men who’d gotten her to that point before she starts to walk again, the trio managing to hand over another bottle of something unlabeled, that smelled like moonshine, before going back to chatting, eating, and joking. They never passed her by, and neither did that food truck. The next person who picks her up laughs a bit when she mentions it, and she takes a lot of pleasure in cutting his throat. The blood is used to track John Winchester, and to try to see what information she could get on the two sons. Sam is easy enough to see, off with his blond bombshell girlfriend as they try to lure out something with their obvious making out and sex-sounds. Dean, though, she can’t see - the protection from the three gods make it near-impossible for her to look into things without using more power, or without--

_MEG._ The loud call from Chakal makes her flinch, glaring as she shifts the blood, getting a better link to Chakal.

“No need to shout, asshole. What do you want?”

_WHY WERE YOU SPEAKING TO XIBALBA? WHY WOULD YOU SPEAK TO THAT GOD?_

She blinks, confused, before a hand slams on the window, making her jump and spill some of the blood. She turns to see Chakal in the meatsuit he’d gotten, that of a man in a dark suit, teardrop tattoos and other prison signs making it hard for her to take him seriously as she glares at him, pushing open the door and throwing the rest of the now-useless blood in his face. “What the hell was that for?”

“You were talking to Xibalba,” Chakal growls out, his voice forever hoarse and sounding raw from constant screaming, “You had a chance to get his medal, to find out what I needed, and you didn’t, you _bitch_.” The hit is expected, and Meg rolls with it as the man advances on her. Azazel had told her to let Chakal direct and lead the Winchesters, which meant she had to deal with his bullshit. She doesn’t like it, and some part of her is already planning on how best to get him out of--

_Dean is protected by Xibalba...meaning…_

“I didn’t know it was him,” she protests as he pulls her up by her hair, making her look up at him as his eyes bleed to black, his demonic nature showing right before there is a ‘tsk’ from nearby. The two turn to look as Meg curses her luck. She’d forgotten that crossroads demons were eavesdropping assholes, and this one in particular, red-eyed and wearing a publisher with thinning, dark hair, was the worst of the bunch.

“Now really, you should know better. Not all of us have had the luxury of pissing off a god, Chakal,” Crowley’s smooth voice says as Chakal growls, releasing Meg as Crowley raises up his hands. The man is supposedly the son of a fairly powerful witch, and knows both how to make deals, and how to get in good with people while also keeping up a backdoor for himself to run out. He isn’t loyal to Lucifer, he isn’t someone who would work to allow the Apocalypse, but he _does_ bring in the most souls through his deals, and he gets in a _lot_ of them, even some that were supposed to be Heaven-bound, before they allowed him to deal. Azazel hates him with a passion, and that came out whenever the crossroad demons and Azazel’s chosen had to meet up.

“Besides, I have news, or don’t you two want to hear it?”

“What’s the catch?” Meg growls out, not wanting to owe Crowley anything. That he was even here, near a crossroad without any major event or big ‘sale’ going on, said she needed to be wary.

“This is a freebie,” Crowley says with a smirk, “take it or leave it, but it’ll get you two idiots nearer to Winchester and Xibalba.” Chakal growls again, starting forward and flexing, before there was another, deeper, and more menacing growl. Meg smirks when she sees the huge Hellhound nearby, waiting to pounce if needed, and waits as Chakal backs down, at least.

“Fine, what do you know?” Meg asks, wanting success even if her father is going to act like an idiot and jerk them around. She watches Crowley smile a bit before making a small gesture, the Hellhound backing down before he says, “Dean Winchester is down to his last leg, meaning Xibalba will come after him if he’s in danger to help him out. The Candlemaker and La Muerte did it, only stands that Xibalba will as well. So...get him in a bad area, and you’re golden.” He snaps his fingers, pulling out an old, crumbled piece of parchment. “The next part will cost you, though, but it’ll get you hold over a few daevas.”

Meg straightens, looking at the parchment. Daevas demand a lot of power and only a few demons, let alone witches or wizards, could summon the monsters. But next to Hellhounds, they were the best for killing and guarding, the best thing that you could summon and not have to worry too much about if they got released or upset. She would have to wait for her own pack of Hellhounds, but if she got how to some a few daevas…she wouldn’t need to take Sammy as a meatsuit. She could cause serious damage before all of that was over.

“So, lovelies...willing to make a deal?”

\--

_July 21-22, 2006_

_Chicago, Illinois_

John Winchester knows that chasing down demons is hard. He’s been doing it for twenty years and has only just started to scratch the surface of what could work against them. The rest of the monsters had been working with demons, or possibly demonic offspring, but the hunting had helped in making a name for himself and getting in with others who could lead him to the monster that killed Mary and had done…something…to Sam.

He’s quiet as he enters the warehouse, hearing a female voice from nearby, taunting someone. He has to guess that woman is a demon – only demons taunted and acted as such to their victims, keeping them hostage and tormenting them and their meat-suits until they were sent back to Hell. John’s surprised when he hears Dean’s voice come up, nearly forgetting himself as he slips closer, doing his best to stay in the dark. If whatever the demon is controlling is in shadows, they aren’t coming after him despite the darkness.

“You really did in Chakal, though. I should’ve know it was a trap, but you did me a huge favor.”

“Yeah, I’m doin’ you all the favors, aren’t I?” Dean asks, his voice a low growl as John hears the woman-thing laugh.

“Upset ‘cause there’s only so much left in that interesting gun? You know, my daddy’s lookin’ for a gun like that one.”

“Your ‘daddy’ a yellow-eyed bastard, ‘cause if so, he’s already lookin’ for me.” That nearly stops John again, glancing around the corner to see what was going on. Dean stands in the middle of the room, near an overturned and broken altar, while nearby is a woman with short blond hair, a red leather jacket and dark outfit contrasting with her pale skin. Between them, dead, lies a man in similar dark attire, blood pooling near his head.

“You’re a riot. Why would we be looking for the Losechester of the bunch? I mean, unless you think Papachester or little baby Sammy-whammy are gonna really care about you dying. I bet your Daddy doesn’t even know.”

Dean lets out a low, almost sad laugh. “You’re something else, for a demon.”

“And you’re something else too. You pegged me the moment I said ‘hi’, didn’t you? Your brother and his girl-toy certainly didn’t. ”

“Does it matter?”

The female demon lets out a snort. “Not really. And as much as I’d _love_ to see you squirm, I got my own wants. Hell ain’t so fun, but Earth is always a blast.” She suddenly stops, eyes widening as Dean gives her a smile.

“Just noticed that, huh? You’d better run, I’m a nice human, but my friend? He don’t like demons so much.”

“Yeah, but we figured out everything. Your butt’s ours.”

A deeper voice speaks too quietly for John to hear, John blinking as a man appears next to Dean, getting Meg to stumble back so fast she nearly falls over, eyes wide and fearful. The new man doesn’t say anything, as Meg is gone with the stink of sulfur, and Dean lets out a sigh, looking over at the man. “So…no more daevas?”

“No more. Though I think we should…” the man begins to sway, “…Dean…”

Dean reaches over, catching the other man and saying as he props the other man up, “I gotcha, Cas. Sorry, you said you’d be out of it, I just…way she ran off…”

“I may have…overdone it…when I threatened her…”

Dean lets out a laugh as they head out, John watching and following at a distance, close enough to hear but far enough away that he could easily hide in shadows. “She ran so fuckin’ fast, man, it was worth it.” They get to the Impala, glistening in the early night rain, before Dean moves to get everything in safely, his apparent hunting-partner included, and they drive off. The whole thing confused John – who is that man and what is he? Why is Dean not with Sam? John had made sure those two were a unit, despite all that Sam had protested, because he’d _known_ that Dean would be able to care for them. Dean had proven that back when he was five, when he realized that he needed to protect Sam and help out his father on this mission. Dean had screwed up a few times, but he’d always done what was right, returned to his family, just like John had known Sam would return to the family.

John doubles back to his own truck, pulling out a local phonebook he’d gotten to look up the motels in the area. He knows how Sam and Dean chose their places and where they tend to hide, even when things get tough, and even if it’s just Dean and...whatever or whoever that other person is with him that can possibly threaten a _demon_...he knows that Dean will go to the first place listed, will list himself under a specific name, and that John can easily get there and ask him what, exactly, is going on.

\--

He’s not at the motel, or any of the others that are near enough and fit the criteria that John had drilled into Dean and Sam’s head over the years, knowing that being able to find them would be important when the time came. It gets nearer and nearer to the point where John is seriously considering just looking for the Impala, since that would be easier to find than Dean right now. When had that boy gone off the reservation, enough to not only trust something and someone John hadn’t vetted, but also enough to give up on the established and practiced pattern they’d always used?

John nearly lets out a growl of frustration as he considers what to do next. He should go and get to one of his safety deposit boxes, or even the post office boxes that he uses to collect any and all mail he gets. He hadn’t told the boys about them because they were more for his contacts in the hunting community, and for holding onto dangerous items he found and wasn’t about to tell his sons about. Who knew what idiocy Sam would try if he knew about them, let alone how quickly Dean might attempt something and end up cursed? Sam was an unlucky magnet for supernatural forces, and Dean’s job had been to keep him safe and innocent, so that when he did learn, he could be eased into the knowledge and come out of it better, for when they finished off the demon. Dean had been broken, and John always doubted that Dean would be able to fully integrate back into society like he and Sam would. At least John had Kate, for when this was over. Dean had nothing.

The thought of who or what the man with Dean is makes John frown, checking the time before he heads to his nearest mail drop, going over to get it easily and with little fuss. The man in charge is paid well enough to not ask questions, and he knows John well enough to go and get his mail easily, John heading out and to a nearby small, out of the way diner so he can get some early breakfast and look through the contents.

Some are the fruits of his credit card schemes, others are bits of money he’d collected from selling off a few of the lesser-cursed items for a tidy profit. Even if guns and ammo were easy enough to get, the rest of the things he’d needed for hunting monsters, and especially for tracking and keeping demons away, had not been cheap. The final two are letters from Daniel Elkins, one of his older teachers who had kept in touch with John, mostly because John had been a good student and learned all he could about vampires, as near-extinct as they were, from the man. The older one John opens and reads through first, his hands shaking as he gets through the content and implication stated inside.

_John, your son Dean is no longer human._

No. That can’t be right. _Sam_ is the tainted one, the one that requires love and innocence so he could easily counter the darkness that demon had thrown into him. The one that should’ve gone dark, rouge, was _Sam_ , not Dean. Dean was his good soldier, the one John had trained to know and _do_ what had to be done. John can’t believe such a thing would happen to his eldest, to the one who’d thrown himself so eagerly into training and done so well, no matter what childish idiocies he sometimes expressed when showing off his lesser abilities.

The next letter is no less dire - Elkins had had the Colt, the one item that, they learned, would be able to kill a demon...and Dean had stolen it. Elkins was sure of the theft being Dean, but had not seen any sign of the robbery until he’d gone to check on the weapon, to ensure it was safe. It meant that gun that John had seen in Dean’s hand, the one he’d used on the demon named Chakal, was the Colt.

John barely manages to swallow down the coffee he’d ordered, his mind racing. Elkins didn’t know what had happened, only went off the numerous rumors of Dean’s death, as reported by some civvies he’d saved. However, other reports seem to indicate that Dean had gotten out of the area and managed to leave on his own power, meaning whatever had been in the forest might have resurrected him and used him to get out of its confines.

John’s mind goes back to the one text he’d sent Dean...the one about the shtriga that Dean had failed to lure in and deal with years ago, the one that had attacked Sammy instead, and pulls out his phone, looking through it before getting out Jim Murphy’s number. He hasn’t contacted the pastor in a year, but maybe...maybe he’s heard something.

John debates whether he should call from his cell phone or from the payphone just outside, and finally decides to wait until he’d gotten his breakfast before he calls his contacts. He needs to know what is going on with his sons, what is happening, and what Missouri had mentioned months before, when she talked about Dean and Sam coming in to deal with a poltergeist in their old home. The information could explain the man with Dean, and maybe even give John a chance to not only get everything together, but also to be prepared when he finally speaks to his sons, gets the Colt, and finishes everything.

\--

_September 21, 2006_

_Hurleyville, New York_

Dean sleeps curled around Castiel, his body having instinctively moved to tangle himself up around the one thing in the room that would protect him. It pains Castiel to know, from the meld of memories he’d gained when he’d used his Grace to keep Dean alive, why Dean is so eager for tender and kind touches, why he so enjoys giving pleasure over receiving it. The simple things that allow Dean to be happy are few, and currently include calls from Adam and Sam. They had not explained to Sam what happened, and Castiel can’t help but believe that Dean’s unwillingness to share with Sam comes from feeling that the few secrets he has should include Castiel. Even if Sam knew Castiel’s true nature, Dean fears telling Sam about the events would only upset Sam again. It pains Dean to know that Sam had believed Castiel to be something they needed to kill, or be prepared to kill, and that the only thing keeping such feelings at bay was Sam’s beliefs and faith.

Castiel moves his fingers through Dean’s hair, looking back down at his human charge whose soul, now exposed to him, is so beautiful. Even though his Grace had not completely healed the wax that had once protected Dean’s soul, enough of it was rebuilt to keep it half-hidden from others, the wax now including threads of blue-white Grace that surrounds the flame like lattice work. It creates more and more of a glow, shows more and more of Dean’s true nature, and some part of Castiel is happy to see it, that others will be able to see Dean for what he really is. Some part of Castiel, though, covets and wishes to keep Dean to himself, that Dean is _his_ and his alone. He doesn’t know if it is that part that fears the three images he saw, the way that Dean’s soul will be tormented and torn by Heaven and Hell’s wish, so that the Apocalypse can come.

But why would Michael and others want that? What would be the purpose for that? It was their job to care for humanity and the Earth, for what their Father had created and loved as he loved the others. Dean’s wish to save as many as he can, to save _everyone_ he can, still glows with his worry over Castiel’s fate, but at the same time, he seems to understand and accept Castiel’s choice. The admissions, the understanding and acceptance of it, has only allowed Dean’s soul to shine all the more, and for Castiel to understand all the more how important it would be to keep Dean safe, no matter what happens.

The sound of the phone on the nearby stand causes Dean to mutter and shift, sleep interrupted as he shifts to uncurl himself. Castiel looks over and sees that Sam is the caller. He shifts and picks up the phone, answering it as Dean lets out a muttered groan and falls back to sleep as Castiel continues to move a hand through his hair. “Hello?”

“ _You two safe?_ ” Bobby says on the other line, “ _There’s been some rumors going on about ya_ , _Sam left his phone here so I figured I’d give you boys the head’s up about it._ ”

Castiel frowns at the news, grateful now that Dean is sleeping somewhat peacefully. Their trip to New York had been partly to go after a few ghosts in the area, but also for Dean to visit with someone who had cared for him. Sonny had been a gruff but kind man, and he’d seemed to understand the actual reason for Dean’s visit. That hadn’t stopped him from giving Dean a heartfelt goodbye, and demanding Dean call if ‘things went well’.

“They can’t be helped, I suppose. Not when I am considered a ‘thing’ to Hunters.”

“ _It’s not just you, Cas. Dean’s gettin’ pulled into it too._ ” Bobby’s annoyance starts to seep through as he continues, _“Sam’s getting talks about his ‘unnatural’ brother and what he’s gonna do with him. I don’t need him remembered for being tainted by something and thought of as a monster that needs to be put down!”_

Dean stirs a bit at the loud sound, starting to wake as early morning nears. Castiel briefly debates using some of his Grace to send him back to sleep, but he doesn’t wish to hide this truth from Dean. While Sam and Jess had started to accept Castiel, most of it was on his status as an Angel of the Lord. Dean, having seen others of his kind at their worst, accepts Castiel simply because of how long they’ve known each other, and grown to understand the other. Bobby, however, had never been privy to either of these things - he is not religious and views Castiel still as a monster, and sees his hold over Dean as something that should be purged after Dean’s final trial. It’s a point that bothers Castiel, as besides Sonny, Bobby is close to being another good role model and father-figure for Dean, one that understands the dangers of the world and Hunting, and who does care for him in his own way. That he views Castiel’s presence so negatively would only hurt Dean’s feelings.

Dean mutters as he sits up, looking at Castiel curiously as Bobby continues, explaining that someone named Ellen and a few others had called Sam to warn him about the planned attacks against Castiel and Dean. Castiel shifts the phone and puts it on speaker, allowing Dean to hear what Bobby is saying and to hear the older man’s worry for Dean over the matter. Despite having woken up from a restful sleep, Dean immediately tenses at the mention of the rumor and what the other Hunters thought.

“Sam’s in the clear, right?” Dean finally asks when Bobby is done, the fact that Dean is alive getting Bobby to stop his tirade. Silence falls before Bobby speaks up.

“ _Sam’s fine. They just think he’s a psychic, and all of ‘em like him as a Hunter. He takes to it well, even after four years_.” Castiel frowns at the thought, recalling that Sam Winchester had not been in the Hunting world for a few years, while he went through college, and that Jess and Brady were both technically new Hunters, one of which who started after being possessed, and the other who’d learned the ‘truth’ after helping to rid the other of said possession. It was odd, how easily the Hunting community of humans had decided that Dean was not as valuable as his father or brother, and it only made Castiel more determined to keep him safe, no matter what he was told when he was able to speak to Heaven again.

They’d killed Chakal easily, had tracked him by the sudden and mysterious deaths that resulted in odd blood-patterns related to daevas, and running into another demon, called Meg, had meant Dean had called up Sam and warned them about the woman and her possible retaliation, if she wasn’t still running after Castiel’s display. Even without as much power as he normally had, he was still leagues ahead of most demons, and few of them remembered the first battle when Angels had faced off against Demons. Humans had no actual information on Angels either, let alone any current information.

“That’s good,” Dean says, letting out a sigh before he asks, “Why do they think I’m a monster, though? It’s not just because of Cas, is it?”

Bobby is quiet. Dean looks down at the phone as he slowly takes it from Castiel’s hand, turning off the speaker before getting up to move to the bathroom, speaking into the phone as he moves. “Bobby, it’s not just because of Cas, is it?”

Castiel debates listening in, despite the closed door. His power is not so weak that he cannot listen to what is basically sound waves, and he’s worried about what Bobby will tell Dean. Dean’s worry is already high - at the end of this month, there will be no more chances for Dean, and he will be up for Heaven or Hell’s hold.

Before he can listen, Castiel is stopped by the arrival of Xibalba, the tall, dark death God holding out a wing to stop Castiel from standing or following Dean, his Grace failing as Xibalba looks at him. The snake staff lets out a hiss as Castiel looks up at the god, glaring at him as the god lets out a low chuckle.

“You’ve little that you can do to me, _angelito_ ,” Xibalba points out, moving a hand to stroke the head of the top snake before he said, “You’ve done well, dealing with Chakal.”

“You took this long to congratulate us?” Castiel asks, still glaring at the god as he shifts, enough to stand. Xibalba moves around the room, standing between Castiel and the door to the bathroom and looking bored at Castiel’s glare. He looks down, brushing off a few bits of imaginary specks of dust before he looks up at the angel, his green eyes critical.

“You’ve done your part in our wager, but Heaven has not.”

Castiel freezes, fear creeping into him as Xibalba watches, curious. “You found and gained the weapon in three weeks, and killed Chakal within three months. There was no talk to Heaven in the months since then, and you have lived  within the power level you have, even making that demon lady Meg think twice about trying for what Chakal has gone after. Yet while my power cannot always reach to Heaven, I do know when a wager is near-broken. Not to mention that after the death of Chakal, they could have easily spoken to you and gained more information on the final, unknown item.” He glances at Castiel with a wicked smile. “I wonder why they have decided to so desert you. Could it be that angels are as petty as the ones who do their work on Earth?”

“They haven’t,” Castiel says, denying it as he’d denied the Book and La Muerte, but this denial fell flatter than the first. He recalls his upset over what the Book had shown him, and the similar upset over La Muerte’s words...but how Uriel had acted when he came for the Marigold, Zachariah’s decision to claim it was Castiel’s fault for what happened….

“Haven’t they?”

Castiel’s silence is as damning as it is deafening to his own ears, and he aches for the order and security of Heaven, for the sameness and ease by which he’d lived his life for so long. Except now, he can’t think of why he found such things comforting, when the threat of reprimand or being sent to ‘relearn’ his place was always present, when there was order yet it was so forced upon, that for someone to look down upon Humanity, as he and few others did, and wish to live or help or do something to allow them understanding of Father’s love for them was so frowned upon. How many times had heard Humans being called something horrible, beyond the standard ‘mud monkey’ that was thrown at them? How often did his brothers flinch and wrinkle their noses in disgust at the thought of looking into the Heavens of human souls, just to ensure the same order remained there as in the rest of Heaven? How many more began to avoid him after he asked to come and gain the information he had, the one that lead to his downfall in order to spare Uriel from destruction?

“What you and Dean fear is the same,” Xibalba says, his voice low but not menacing or comforting, simply a statement of facts, “and that is the final bit you must understand before the time limit is up. What I deal in are those who have reached the last fear - the fear of being forgotten - and what I always wager comes with the expectations and fears of others. Facing a _true fear_ , though...that is always the hardest part, and you both are quite exceptional to have resigned yourself to it, even subconsciously. It took far longer for the last mortal who won my wager to realize it, but he did so spectacularly, and under much duress.”

Castiel can now hear Dean, feel and see his upset over what was going on, hear and sense his anger and frustration, his hurt and...his acceptance of it. They had both been cast out of the community they knew, they both had few who might speak to them, but the ones who knew them best are still on their side. Even if Uriel is still in Heaven, Castiel has faith that he would come if Castiel called. Balthazar loves Earth too much to return, and has worked to help them by getting the information they needed, and understanding what had to be done. Sam, Jess, and Brady, for their parts, care for Dean’s life and while Bobby cares in his own way, it’s more than that of others. But Dean’s father, Castiel’s superiors, the Hunting community, and Castiel’s angel siblings - they gave up on them, because they believed Dean and Castiel to be tainted by the other’s presence.

Dean storms out of the small bathroom, stopping the moment he sees Xibalba. The tall god turns to look at him, wings folding as Dean glares him down in much the same way Castiel had earlier. “My, you two are very much alike, aren’t you? I have some news, Dean. Your Castiel won the wager we gave. Heaven is still in for claiming your soul, as is Hell. However, Heaven is not quite holding up its side of the deal...he gets to remain at the power level he is until the day your soul is up for grabs again.”

“Took you this long to come tell us that?”

Xibalba laughs a bit. “Yes, very much alike. I’m telling you this because killing Chakal and chasing off Meg,” he moves so he could look at them both, “has meant that Azazel is _very_ upset with you. He’s looking to work at trapping John Winchester. You’d better find your dad, or let him find you, before that day comes.”

“Why?” Castiel asks, curious and worried over the implications.

“The demons believe, rightly so, that with John Winchester they can bargain whereas I and the others will not. Possession, and handing over a demon-killing gun, is a small price to pay for your eldest child’s soul...especially when you may burden _it,_ and not yourself, with the honor killing that you believe is needed. Fratricide works out so well in the mind over filicide.”

Dean’s eyes go wide at the news, looking at them as Xibalba states, “We said whoever could answer the most - meaning all three - for the symbols would own your soul, Dean Winchester. A demon may possess and use your father to attend, and your father may, at the behest of Hell, state the three and gain that. If that is the case, he owns your soul, and that means he may use it however he sees fit.”

Castiel’s mind whirls at the thought as he sees Dean struggle to work through the new information, Xibalba watching both before he adds, “You bound yourself to Dean Winchester, Angel, during our weak point. His death-day is the only day you may cut those ties, since they are weak then. I suggest you both think on how far you’re willing to go for the other, when such things are available.”

“S-Sammy,” Dean finally grinds out, getting Xibalba to pause before he left, “Sammy could--.”

“Sam Winchester is an abomination to Heaven, and ill-prepared to gain any audience with a demon from Hell. He was not there at the original wager, and he doesn’t know the three items, even if you told him, none of his answers would count unless he was championed by Heaven or Hell. Not to mention that it was your death which allowed Jessica Moore to live. If he changed that, he would lose her. In a choice between you or his girl, who do you think he’ll pick?”

Dean looks down, unable to answer, as Castiel moves to put a wing around Dean’s shoulders, his mind picking up on something that Xilbabla says, as he had with Uriel, “There is the fear...enjoy.” Before Dean can speak up, the death god had disappeared from their hotel room. Castiel watches as Dean shivers before he swallows and says, “We need to get moving.”

“Dean…”

“I’m not letting Dad get possessed, and I’m not letting him get the answers,” Dean says, sounding suddenly angry, the stress of what Bobby had told him coupling with this new information from Xibalba. “I don’t care what it takes, Cas, but not him. I’ll go with the demons first.”

\--

Bobby Singer curses himself for having given in and told Dean what the Hunting community had been starting to say about him and his traveling companion. He knew what Sam had told him about what Castiel was, but that didn’t stop it from still being a monster. That didn’t stop other Hunters from figuring out that Dean was going around with something, though the rumors thought Castiel was simply a dangerous witch, while others were still attempting to get information on what Castiel might actually be. Bobby, for his part, had had to pull in multiple favors before he managed to get some of the more obscure, old manuscripts that have more information on angels and demons, one being in old Greek and another in Hebrew. He’d managed to translate one partway through, and so far all he knew was that specific types of holy oil, if burned, could be used to trap an angel in a similar way that a devil’s trap could stop a demon. Beyond that, unless you had an angelic weapon, you couldn’t kill an angel. You might be able to force it out of its meatsuit that it was possessing, but that required an exorcism that wasn’t fully mentioned, and the angel _had_ to be detained _outside_ of a holy oil circle.

The basics are that angels are just demons, but without the weaknesses that allowed you to at least try to stop them. The thought makes him remember Karen, before he’d known anything about hunting, and what had happened with her. All he can do was worry that Dean wouldn’t be able do anything if the monster decided to turn on him, without any way for them to stop it. They might be able to slow it down a bit, but Bobby has no illusion that they could stop it, if it decided that it wanted Dean or would have him, no matter what Dean’s thoughts on the matter were. The idea frightens Bobby far more than any other thought he could have.  

This is the striga incident all over again. He’d taken the incentive on his own because Sam and Jess weren’t doing it, too enamored by the idea of Castiel being an angel to realize the consequences of him being real, to understand the dangers of it. That Castiel was riding around in some poor sod, using their meatsuit, and making fools out of all of them…

Bobby sighs as he heard the familiar sound of the charger pull up, another, deeper truck sounding off nearby as he walks over, hearing Rumsfeld’s deep, angry barking. Apparently Sam had brought someone else into the area, and Bobby moves to pick up his rocksalt shotgun before going to see who it was.

He’s expecting Sam, Jess, and Brady. He’s not expecting John Winchester to be following after them.


	5. A lo hecho, pecho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Reap what you sow"

Sam isn’t surprised when Bobby levels and cocks the shotgun in Dad’s direction - Sam has had to play nice with him for miles, ever since they found him in their room at Manning. Sam and Jess had gone there to check up on a few rumors of vampires out to get Elkins, and Brady had come along under the pretense of just getting out of the house. He admitted most of it was to get away from having to answer the constant stream of calls from Hunters who needed an alibi checked, and also because Bobby’s collection was starting to get books about Angels in them. They’d gone to visit Elkins about the vampires and Sam had barely managed to restrain himself when Elkins started to talk about Dean as an ‘abomination’. It felt more like Elkins had used the vampires as an excuse to get them to Manning, and was unapologetic about the fact that when they used his teachings to locate the nest, all of the vampires were long dead. There’s only a few hints that told him that Cas had been there, and it meant that some of the ‘components’ Balthazar asked for were gone even before the months of near-exposure had destroyed the corpses.

Sam only trusts Balthazar enough to even think about getting such ‘components’ for him since he’d gotten Sam into a case involving people dying suddenly, revealing a woman who could kill with a touch. Sam and she were able to touch, luckily, but her depression over what happened before and after they’d arrived had driven her to running instead of staying with them. The whole event had been punctuated by them running into Meg Masters again. The demon had forced Lily to kill her own father after possessing him for a short period of time, but she’d been unharmed. It wasn’t fair, and Sam had hated the final outcome of their attempt to save someone like him, only with a far more deadly and cursed existence. Sam had to guess the only real way to make the powers less demonic was to take whatever bet La Muerte would give him…

The reminder of the date had thrown Sam off of his game, so he hadn’t realized the hotel room had been broken into until they got there, and between the three of them, they hadn’t quite managed to get the drop on Dad. Sam wasn’t surprised - if you gave the man some time, he’d be able to get a way out - but his anger at seeing him _now_ , of all times, and asking about _Dean_ had made the whole thing moot. Knowing Dad was alive and pretty much safe was nice, but some part of Sam knew that Dad was only here because of Cas, because of the rumors that Elkins and others spread about Dean and Cas.

When Dad mentioned that Dean might have a demon-killing weapon, one stolen from Elkins earlier that year, Sam also isn’t surprised. Brady sounds intrigued, and Jess looks hopeful at what it could mean. After all, a demon-killing weapon could be used to deal with the yellow-eyed demon, and that would probably save Dean from going up like Mom’s spirit had.

Sam wants to call up Dean, but his phone was left at Bobby’s, meaning they had to go to the salvage yard and hope that Dad and Bobby don’t get into a fight over what revelations they’d had about Dean’s life growing up. Remembering how Sam had thought things had been at the beginning of this year, his belief that he had to stay away from his family in the hopes of keeping Brady and Jess safe…it’s odd that now, looking at his Dad and how he acted, Sam has little patience for his actions or his secrets. They aren’t kids, and by keeping them in the dark, all that’s happened is that Dean got hurt, Sam was nearly watched over by demons, and one of them killed Brady’s girlfriend and left her remains for them to find. He has a feeling that with Bobby’s backup, he can finally talk to his dad about this.

He’s surprised to see that apparently, Bobby has used his phone to call Dean a few hours ago. The revelation is weird, and Sam considers going out to deal with Dad and Bobby, or see what it was that Bobby said and make sure Dean knows about them finding Dad, and what happened with Meg. That she mentioned at one point having met up with Dean and Castiel scares him, and he wants to find out what happened.

The phone doesn’t ring that long, and it’s Castiel who picks up, sounding worried and annoyed. “ _Yes?_ ”

“Castiel? It’s Sam. Is Dean there?”

A bit of silence before Castiel says, “ _He is looking into something. We’re attempting to find another Hunt. How was yours?_ ”

Sam swallows. “It…ended badly. We ran into a demon,” he glances out and checkes, seeing Brady standing near Bobby and Jess near John and his big truck, apparently the two waiting for him and keeping the two, older Hunters away from each other. “Did you guys run into a demon that calls itself Meg?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Castiel tells him after he hears the question, “ _A few months ago. She mentioned having met you as well._ ”

Sam lets out a sigh. “Yeah, on the way to California to find Dad, we gave her a lift. Damnit, are you two ok?”

“ _We’re fine. I would be a poor angel if I could not handle a demon._ ”

Sam lets out a long breath, feeling a bit better before he asks, “When did you meet her?”

“ _The final god who resurrected Dean asked us to…deal with something._ ” Something about that rang untrue, or at least that Castiel wasn’t telling him the whole truth, but Sam doesn’t call him on it, instead waiting as Castiel continues, “ _We managed to gain a demon-killing gun, called a Colt, and are doing some study on it right now. It’s an old-fashioned six-shooter, according to Dean, but it only has a few bullets left over. We used one, and it will only take one shot to defeat the yellow-eyed demon…but we are worried about what he might do._ ”

Sam freezes at the news, remembering what Elkins had told him, about how Dean had broken in and stolen something powerful, something that Elkins had wanted Dad to have but he’d kept because it was dangerous, it was something that drew in danger…

“Elkins knows about the theft,” he says, wondering what Castiel’s answer will be. Even for an angel, Sam still feels like there’s something that Castiel and Dean aren’t telling him, something _important_.

Castiel sounds like he’s not surprised. “ _I know. However, he also called Dean an abomination. He has not said why Elkins believes that, and I have not pushed, but it is not something I enjoy thinking that your community believes about Dean, simply because he’s stopped Hunting with a father who will not call or text him unless he has a job, or a brother who left it for four years._ ”

Sam winces at that, because for all that some might needle him about finding ‘newbie’ Hunters while he was at college, they still view him as a force to be reckoned with. Dean, they’ve just pushed aside as some other Hunter, as nothing, and it irks Sam. Mostly because Sam is starting to realize how valuable and important Dean is, and it’s upsetting to think that, by early next month, Dean will no longer _be_ here.

“I found Dad,” Sam finally tells him, “Or rather…he found us. We’re at Bobby’s…could you…I mean…I doubt Dad’ll be able to stay for long.”

“ _He would leave before Dean got there, in the belief that if he kept moving, it would keep the demon away from him. Both Bobby and Brady can tell him that’s not true. If he wants another opinion, Bobby has a treatise on the nature of demons, and his use of salt and demon-repellant sigils will make you all safer in that home than any other. It will give you all time to figure out how best to deal with the demon, and for us to arrive there._ ”

“You can’t just…fly you guys there?”

More silence.

“ _I may. However, John Winchester has kept you and Dean in the dark and waiting far too long. It’s time he be on the receiving end of such feelings. We will be there by early October, if there is not a dangerous Hunt we have to deal with._ ”

Sam wants to agree, and finally says, “I’ll work on keeping him here for you. If you can, have Dean give us a call…it might be good incentive.”

“ _Are you certain?_ ”

Sam glances back outside at where John stands, looking almost antsy. “No. But it’s the best shot I have, short of telling him that you could smite him, or about the deal.”

Castiel considers before saying, “ _I would rather keep that part a secret._ ”

“Why?”

“ _La Muerte is willing to make a deal with you, and spoke of the fact that while you can deal with her on that day, it will not be for Dean’s soul. We were recently reminded that your father, if he was possessed and brought there by a demon…could deal._ ”

“But…but that’s good!” Sam said, suddenly feeling better than he had in months. “Dad could--.”

“ _Dean’s soul would belong to him, Sam. That means no matter what you, I, or anyone else says…Dean’s soul would be your father’s property, if he had a way to bargain for it. I doubt the three would wish for the Colt, or your father. That means—_ “

Sam nearly curses, the wind taken out of his sails quicker than he’d experienced before. Even his childhood disappoint pales in comparison to the feeling. If Dad had Dean’s soul, and a chance at yellow-eyes? Sam _knows_ what Dad would do.

And if he thought that being possessed would get him in there, and didn’t manage to get through?

“I…damnit, I thought…”

“ _Forgive me for getting your hopes raised, Sam, but that is the danger we face if John Winchester goes out alone. And despite his feelings, Azazel has marked him as much as he’s marked you. John Winchester is in danger, alone or with you. But at least with you, he has a chance._ ” More silence, listening as a door opens. “ _Dean has returned. I will speak to him, and we will call you later. Please work on keeping your father there, Sam, and if for whatever reason he won’t, on at least setting up a date to meet up before Halloween. We are beginning to cut things short._ ”

“I’ll do my best.”

The call ends abruptly, and Sam walks out, glancing over at Bobby, who looks unapologetic before Sam looks back over at Dad and Jess. “I got hold of Dean. He’s heading over, but it’ll be a bit. They’re checking on Hunts too.” He glance at Dad. “Dean wants to talk to you face-to-face.”

Dad looks surprised, and shifts briefly before nodding. “I need to talk to him too. I’ve…heard some disturbing things.”

Sam lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “We can fill you in on a few things, but we don’t know the whole picture either. Dean went to do his own thing, and he’s been doing a pretty good job of it.” He doesn’t want to point out they’d met that Missouri lady, that half of their information about the Hunters came from ones that Dad had kept them from, when it would’ve made their life easier. Some part of Sam is still upset over it all, but at the same time, he thinks that so long as Dad is near his truck, he’ll have a way to escape these unpleasant stuff that Sam will bring up, and the far more unpleasant ones that Dean will bring up when he and Castiel arrive.

“So,” John glances over at Bobby, “you gonna let me in, or are you actually gonna shoot me this time?”

“I should shoot ya, and you should be grateful I grabbed the shotgun with rock salt, and not the one with actual ammunition,” Bobby growls out, sounding upset at the idea but making sure the shotgun wasn’t going to go off as he turns, walking back in and saying, “Fine, bring him in and he can stay upstairs in the spare bedroom. I don’t care.”

Brady looks worried, but seems to side more with Sam and letting John into the room over sending him off somewhere. Jess is backing him up, and would talk to him away from the others if she didn’t like his ideas. She doesn’t seem like she disapproves, instead following them all in as Brady goes to get something to eat from the fridge while Dad follows Sam upstairs and to the guest room. Dad looks around, putting down a duffle bag he’d brought in. He glances over at Sam, his dark eyes concerned as he asks, “What’s going on with Dean? I thought he’d go to you after I left that voicemail.”

Sam wants to hit him, but instead lets out a breath. “I’d dealt with that Woman in White by the time Dean got there, and I’d gotten your stuff. He wanted me to come along and I said no.” He watches Dad as he looks upset, as if he was trying to figure out what to say, before Sam speaks up, “I didn’t want to go, and the results…” he stops, looking away, then says, “Dean can talk to you about that. But a lot of stuff happened, Dad, and--.”

“Who’s the guy with Dean?” Dad’s question gets Sam to pause, looking at him curiously as Dad watches him. “I saw them in Chicago, before Elkins sent me a…a note. I tried to follow them but they changed up their routine.”

“We both have,” Sam tells him, “I only fell back in it after Elkins had bitched at us.” He glances at Dad. “You’ll meet him when Dean gets here.”

“Tell me what you know,” Dad says, his voice stern and getting Sam to grit his teeth in an effort to stop from telling at his father. Doing that wouldn’t help, and he’d gotten a promise from Castiel that they’d call the moment they were on the road. He’ll have to use that.

“Dean’s gonna call soon…you can ask him then.”

“Sam…”

“I don’t know enough to give you a good report,” he snaps, his upset already built too much from how Dad is acting. How dare he act like everything is alright when it isn’t? How dare he never call or check on them, and leave Sam to deal with what was coming up on them at the end of next month. To deal with Dean’s infatuation with an Angel, to deal with their haunted house, Mom’s ghost, and the sudden realization that he’d not go to Heaven just because of what had happened to him when he was six months old.

“Dean’ll call soon. Talk to him about it.”

\--

John knows that Bobby has issues with him, and a lot of it stems from how he’s raised his kids. He knows that Sam feels like he’s a tyrant who always does things for his own reason. It’s a sentiment he sees in the two that Sam brought into the Hunting world, even when he’d sworn he never would. He sees it in the nervous kid who watches him with a good distance between them and he especially sees it in Sam’s girl, as beautiful as Mary ever was.

It’s nice to see Sam happy, though, and how relaxed he is with that girl. John smiles a bit as he watches them, Sam having said something that got Jess to start laughing and hiding against him shyly as Sam continues to tease her quietly. They shift out of the room as Bobby gives them a stink-eye, as if them being together like that is an affront to his sensibilities, but John suddenly realizes it leaves only himself, Bobby, and Sam’s phone in the kitchen. He glances at it, at his beer, and finally at the glaring Bobby, who’s also nursing a beer and looking like he’s been waiting for this point. They probably planned this.

Damn. John really doesn’t want to deal with Bobby and his attempt at over-protectiveness towards Dean especially. Bobby has always thought that he knew better about raising and caring for John’s sons than John did, and now, with whatever was going on with Dean, John has to hope Bobby’d give him more information than Sam had.

“You want to tell me what’s got you so upset with me?” John finally asks, not feeling up for dealing with the glare that Bobby was leveling at him, “Sam hasn’t talked to me at all about what’s going on.”

Bobby snorts, holding the beer bottle a bit tighter before he says, “We had to take care of the shtriga, and someone went to talk to Pastor Jim about what happened.”

John frowns at that. “And?”

“ _AND?_ That’s all you gotta say to us after we found you left them alone, as _bait_ , for that monster? That you yelled at Dean instead of comforting him when he came back--.”

“He wasn’t supposed to leave! He was--.”

“You left a _nine year old_ alone and didn’t think he’d get stir-crazy? You didn’t look into those monsters and learn they go after the _youngest_ first?” Bobby’s anger is white-hot, and John wants to storm out, to not take any of Bobby’s arguments. Who the hell is he to tell John how he raised his kids? Dean knew what was going on, Dean knew by the time he was _five_ what he needed to do, and John had made sure he’d be the one to protect Sam no matter what. He’d done just that, had made sure his youngest son was safe, was innocent for as long as needed, and his eldest had proven himself to be the best when having something to direct him. He wasn’t that smart, not like Sam, and he couldn’t figure out patterns as quickly as John could. He needed Dean to call, so he could find out what was going on, and get someone to talk to him without acting like he was wrong.

“You got a bug up your ass because of something that happened almost fifteen years ago?”

“I’m pissed you texted and tried to send _Dean_ there without any information, and that you didn’t leave any information there for anyone else to find it! If you were so goddamned concerned about it, you would’ve told Ellen or someone and sent someone else after it! That was fifteen years of kids _dyin’_ for your pride!”

John nearly stands and walks out, or throws his beer, but the phone suddenly rings. Both men stop their argument, but the glares don’t stop as Bobby looks down, seeing the name as John reaches for it, answering it with a curious, “Hello?”

“ _Hey Dad,_ ” Dean’s voice is neutral, the way that John had never heard it, and it instantly puts John on edge. What has happened to his oldest son? What did he miss?

“Dean…are you…Sam said you were coming over to Bobby’s? Where were you?”

“ _Hurleysville…remember that?_ ”

John frowns, upset with the reminder of that spot. “I do. What were you doing there?”

Silence, then, “ _Visiting. I wanted to get away from some Hunting for a bit, figure things out. Not like you’ve been easy to reach this year._ ”

John swallows, finally latching onto something he _could_ talk with Dean about. “No, and I’m sorry, but it was to keep you safe. I had to, Dean, those things--.”

“ _Demons, Dad, and yeah, I know. Sam and Bobby filled me in for a lot of the stuff. Why didn’t you go directly to Bobby when you realized it, huh? He’s got the best collection of books on demons. Or did you think that they weren’t real, like vampires were extinct?_ ”

John freezes. “You took out that nest?”

“ _Cas and I, yeah, and we also got that Colt he was hiding too. He mention to you about the demon-killing gun he had?_ ”

John remembers the letter, the one saying that Dean had stolen it for his own use, and he says, “He mentioned it after it was taken. I haven’t spoken to him about it, though. Sam said he had, though. How long will it take you to get here?”

Bobby snorts at the change in topic and Dean seems to not take his question to heart. “ _A few days, maybe more. We’re stopping to talk to a contact about getting some more bullets for the Colt. Elkins had five, I used one, and we dropped off one with the guy to check out so--._ ”

“You did _what?_ ” John can’t hold back his anger at that. “Dean, those— _“_

_“We’ve_ got six _._ ”

Silence fell, John’s anger turning to confused anger as he shook his head, “What?”

“ _I used one on a demon that was trying to trap you in Chicago. We gave one to a contact who works in magical weapons and charms. He’s gave us three and we got another twelve coming up. So, you know, in case the black-eyed demons or even the yellow-eyed one decides to come after us, we’ll have something to stop ‘em. Or did you want to keep yelling at me for ‘wasting’ a bullet?_ ” Anger laces Dean’s voice, enough to get John’s own anger to rise over his confusion. How dare his son argue with him like that? Sam was the rebellious son, the one who decided to leave them alone, and Dean was the good soldier, the one who followed the rules and knew his place. He took whatever punishment was given for his failures and he learned from it, never making those same mistakes again. When did he suddenly become so rebellious and willful?

This was probably the fault of that ‘Cas’ guy, the one he’d seen in Chicago and that Elkins mentioned as possibly something that was using Dean. This is what John got for leaving Dean alone, for thinking he was even mature enough, at twenty-seven, to finally deal with simple things on his own. No, Dean needs a steady hand and discipline, that much is obvious now, and John can’t believe he’d left him alone for this long and the idiot boy was still alive.

“Dean, get your butt here _now_. Don’t stop, just get here and explain what the hell is going on.”

“ _Tell Sam to tell you what he can, or ask Bobby. We’re stopping to get the bullets because it’s on our way and because we need those if you want to go after yellow-eyes. And I’ve been making my own damned schedule for four years now, so don’t start acting like I need to jump at your command now when you didn’t want to give me anything but coordinates and an expectation to freakin go there and figure things out on my own? And you don’t even bother calling to find out how I did, or if I’m ok, and when you do, it’s months later. So don’t fucking_ start _with me, Dad. I don’t have the time. We’ll be there in a week, two tops. So fuck off._ ”

“DEAN,” John starts, but instead he meets dead air. He curses, slamming the phone down on the table enough to hear a crack, but not enough to break it. Bobby yells at him about it as John shakes his head, instead taking a deep drink from his beer before he growls out, “What the fuck is going on with Dean? Don’t you fucking bullshit me on this either, Singer, what is that thing that’s with him and what the fuck is it doing to my boy?”

\--

_September 29, 2006_

Balthazar keeps them for a bit, mostly helping Dean get a few more protective items to hand over to Sam and Bobby, as well as restocking their weapons. Castiel is happy about how Balthazar is living, though some part of him is worried as well.

“You haven’t returned to Heaven,” Castiel says, having noticed the state of Balthazar’s wings, the way he was relaxing so much in his vessel, and that even the small soul seemed to be gone quicker than Emmanuel’s soul had left Castiel’s vessel. It worries Castiel, because while Castiel is here for Dean, has stayed and wishes to _continue staying_ to care for him. The only other course is to change Heaven, though he doubts they would begin to understand even a fraction of what Castiel had learned here. He’s not sure what Balthazar finds and likes here, only that he seems content in a way that Castiel has hardly ever seen.

“No,” Balthazar says simply, sipping at his drink – something alcoholic and strong – as he gives Castiel a smile. “If Uriel is going to allow you to be thrown under the bus like that, why should I return to Heaven? Besides, you’re here. I like it better around you than I do around Zachariah and those other arse-kissers.” He takes another drink and lets out a breath. “Also, I’ve noticed some…odd things. I’m looking into them on my own, and it’s allowing me to stay hidden from Heaven, but still, it’s also something I’m a bit worried about. I want to make sure of it, before I ever head back.”

Somehow, Castiel knows that’s not a ‘before’ and more of an ‘if’. He hates that he’s brought Balthazar to this, and Balthazar seems to have found so much enjoyment on Earth in ways that Castiel would have once considered linked to about to Fall, about to become like the Gregori and others who stayed on Earth, near Noah’s home, and were destroyed. To mention it now, though, he could only think would be hypocritical of him. After all, some fell for the daughters and powerful children of men who called to them, just as Dean called to him.

Dean gets various calls from his brother and father, his father’s anger escalating while his brother’s concern simply remains steady, trying to make sure that Dean is coming and still alright. Neither Castiel nor Dean is sure how to take the calls from Sam – his concern is nice to see, but it comes up at the oddest times, especially when none of it appears after John’s calls unless yelling is involved.

The drive up to Bobby’s house is done so calmly, and Dean doesn’t let out his sigh until they get there, seeing the big, dark truck and Sam’s own dark Charger nearby. “I don’t like this.”

Castiel glances at him, then back, nodding. “This will not end well.”

Dean grips the wheel briefly, finally letting out a breath before he says, sounding resigned, “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Dean…”

“I got one thing left holding me together, Cas. It’ll last until it’s time for me to die again. Dad has some stuff on me, yeah, but…not now. Not this close. Hell, in a month we’ll have to start worrying, right?”

Castiel has to concede that point, and the two get out of the Impala, heading to the doorway before one of the doors slams open, a tall man with dark hair walking out to hold up a gun at Castiel. Dean starts to yell to try to stop his father’s advance as Castiel waits. Even with Castiel’s weakened state, the gun would not hurt him, even though he can sense the addition of various attempts to make an anti-angel weapon. He glances over at Bobby, who is carrying a shotgun filled with items that have similar properties, and Castiel is almost curious to see what happens. If it could not damage him while weakened, then against someone like Balthazar or any other, the two would stand no chance. It makes him sad, though, to think that Bobby’s call and anger had instead focused on him and on working to stop Castiel from helping Dean.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Dean demands, moving to stand in front of Castiel as he glares down the two older men. Sam, Jess, and Brady seem to be absent from the drama, despite the loud yell that Dean has let out before Castiel slowly moves forward, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He doubts his display of ability will make the two men respect him, but it will make them fear him enough to possibly back down, and it might be the only course available.

“Dean, it’s alright.”

“Cas,” Dean protests softly, getting his father to growl and level the gun even more at Castiel. Bobby, however, seems less likely to shoot now. It’s a start.

“I don’t want you hurt.”

“This won’t hurt me, and I would rather we deal with this now, so we may have this point cleared, and then speak to them of what is to come. Your father must be warned, as should the others.”

John Winchester tenses at the mention of a warning, while Bobby looks curious, his shotgun lowering even more as Dean gazes into Castiel’s eyes, the worry and concern evident there before he seems to see something he could trust. Dean’s slow nod before he steps away allows Castiel to look fully at John Winchester, who still holds the gun ready and looks like he is only not shooting because of how close Dean is.

“Dean, get away from that thing _now_ ,” John demands as Castiel looks at him, really looks at him. It amazes Castiel that under John Winchester’s hands, Dean had grown into the kind, caring, Righteous man he is. Had it been John at the bottom of the mineshaft, the three gods would not have given him any consideration.

“Dean and I need to speak to you about what will happen soon,” Castiel tells him, the gun still trained on him as John attempts to divide his gaze between Castiel and Dean, who remains standing near the Impala.

“DEAN!”

“Your sons are in danger from various forces, John Winchester, and you have done nothing to prepare them. Sam Winchester was ill-prepared for the death that would have been visited upon him, if Dean had not died instead.”

That jolts John enough to get him to gape at Castiel, Dean letting out a sigh as he mutters, “Subtle, Cas,” from the Impala. Even Bobby looks surprised, and Castiel cannot remember if they told him the full truth of it, or if he only knew enough to know that Dean was kept upright by gifts from gods. Castiel glances at Dean, then back to the still shell-shocked John and Bobby. He’s curious where Sam and the others are, why they aren’t here and helping.

Dean slowly moves from where he was to near his father, speaking loudly enough for Bobby to hear and in a tone that was meant to calm. “Dad, shit happened after you left me that voicemail about the Woman in White. I got until early November, then I’m…” he swallowed, seeing his father’s pain and worry. “Dad, there’s nothing you can do.”

“What do you mean?” John demands, anger and pain roaring around him like a maelstrom. “What did it do to you?”

“Cas didn’t do anything,” Dean tells him simply, calmly, used to the storm it seems, “All he’s done is make sure I’m ok, is make sure I…” he swallows and finally said, “It was a wendigo in those coordinates you left. Sammy didn’t come to help me. I got the campers out. But…I punctured a lung. I bled out after they got out and I’d toasted the monster. The…three gods came, and…” Dean glances at Castiel, his calm upset now by the last part, and with a nod, Castiel picks up the story.

“There was a wager struck. For Dean Winchester’s return to life for one year, and with his soul as the winnings, Heaven and Hell must figure out three secrets. If we do not, Dean will return to where he was a year ago – his soul destined for no place, and not tied enough to the Earth to remain as a spirit.” He can see John’s anger right before he shoots. The bullet isn’t even painful when it hits Castiel’s shoulder, but Dean’s cry when he moves to wrestle the gun away from John is, his father yelling at him for trusting the ‘monster’.

The sound of a slap is enough to suddenly charge the air with the power of Castiel’s anger. Within Dean’s soul, as broken and half-formed as it is now compared to before, all he sees is resignation to the attack. He knew that it would happen, because Sam is not there, because his father’s anger had built towards it. John doesn’t seem to notice the static charge at first, grabbing Dean’s shoulder, hard enough to bruise through the layers, and starts to shake right before he feels it and everyone – Dean, John, and Bobby – looks to Castiel as he advances on John, shadowed wings spread wide and shimmering as lightning cracks behind him, lighting the area enough to show their outline. John stumbles back, trying to drag Dean along with him, and fires two more times. Neither bullet slows Castiel down as he storms up to the man, grabbing the gun before it’s crumbled, unusable and twisted. John’s hold on Dean doesn’t slacken or let go until Castiel puts a finger to his forehead, sending the man into sleep.

Dean reels, looking at Castiel in fright. Only Sam Winchester and the congregation of Roy le Grange had seen him while angry, and now he almost is fearful of what Dean will say. Will he be afraid of Castiel now, afraid of what he really is? Castiel had nearly shown his power to Dean before, but always it had been restrained. He waits, pulling in his power, and hears Sam yelling from nearby. Apparently Bobby is still too surprised to say or do anything, and Dean is caught by Castiel’s eyes, just as Castiel is caught by his soul—

Oh. Dean’s soul reacts to it, to having such a powerful and terrifying being willing to come in, to save him…he _likes_ it. He’s barely controlling himself, wanting to hug and kiss Castiel in front of everyone. He wants to have someone who can care for him, but also will allow him to be himself. Who will, when he is unable to be protected, to protect him.

He needs that protection he lost so long ago, and to know that he’ll be cared for.

Castiel lets out a breath, reaching out to touch Dean lightly, healing the bruises and the reddening ache from the slap. He leaves things open for Dean to decide, for Dean to lead on, and he sees Dean visibly relax under that room he’s been given, the room to decide for himself without any repercussion or arguments, violence or accusations.

“I have to warn him, Cas. I can’t let it happen.”

“Let what happen?” Sam is nearby, attempting to wake his father, and Jess and Brady are nearby, looking worried. Bobby looks angry at the three, as if them arriving at ‘the nick of time’ was not something he wanted to think of too much, and he says gruffly, “Bring the idjit in, we’ll discuss it inside where he can’t do any harm to ya.” He looks at Cas with far more respect than he had before, and Castiel believes that now, despite it all, he and Dean at least have one ally in this house.

\--

Castiel is very obviously upset at Sam and at the insistence that he wake up John for the conversation. Sam can get that, but he also thinks that he and Dean are overreacting to it. Yes, Sam knows that Castiel is an Angel, and therefore on their side, but Dad and Bobby need to _see_ that too. It’s not enough to hear it from someone who could be under some spell or something, and it’s especially not enough to hear that something is either indestructible or able to kill anything. Hearing that there was a weapon to kill demons, or that there was no way to kill an Angel, was one thing. He trusts that Dean could handle Dad, because he always did, at least before this past year.

After what happened with those cannibal humans in Hibbing, not to mention the way that Dad had treated Dean over text, Sam began to wonder if Dad cared about Dean after Sam had left. He hardly got any texts from him, and with the way the Hunting community was vilifying Dean just because of one reclusive, crazy jerk…

Dad is glaring down Castiel, his fear having instantly gone to anger the moment he was woken up. Dean is staying near Castiel, looking far from relaxed and appearing a bit wary of Dad now. Sam hadn’t seen exactly what happened, but whatever it was, Dad has pissed off Castiel and, more importantly, Bobby. Bobby’s got the shotgun meant for Castiel now pointed at Dad, and Dean seems uncertain of whether he should speak or let Castiel talk for him. He glances at the still-glowering and upset angel before letting out a breath, glancing around the room and saying, “The wendigo hit me against a wall, and a rib punctured my lung. I torched it, and the civvies were out, but I choked on my own blood after that. I died.”

Sam draws in a breath, hating how much pain that admission always brought to him. He’d abandoned his brother, had lied and chased him away, and because of that, Dean had died. Dean had died, Jess had lived, and then Brady’s girl had been killed. Brady didn’t think it was the demon that killed Mom – he thought it was another underling, upset over the thing that had taken over Brady being cast back into Hell. Dad’s admission of demons being everywhere rang truer with that, just as it has when they found out about Meg.

“I woke up surrounded by three gods – death gods.” Sam swallows – there was always a hunter or two who ran into a god, and it was always one of the hardest hunts they ever did. Only thing harder was demons, but having met one of them, the one who’d been at le Grange’s…he wasn’t sure now.

“The three told me that my soul was up for grabs,” Dean explains. “That something had happened and Heaven and Hell had attempted to grab it, but…things made it so they didn’t have enough of a hold on me.”

“Dean has no belief in Heaven,” Castiel spoke up, “and he has done too much good work to ever go to Hell unless he made a Deal, or unless he changed his ways very radically.”

Sam frowns at that, glancing over at Dad and Bobby before asking, “But, that lady…La Muerte…”

“She rules over one of the other lands. In some cases, a soul will go to another place – not Heaven nor Hell, but a different world for those Remembered by their families. This is not to mean remembered for one aspect, or remembered in a false light, but _actually_ remembered and their lives celebrated. The other two hold sway over the Well of Souls, which links the various afterlives and is a crossroads itself for the reapers and death-gods, and the final rules the Land of the Forgotten.”

“I got lucky,” Dean mutters, “I don’t fit anywhere.”

Sam frowns at that, trying to find some fault in it, as he sees Dad pale and begin to look like he needed a beer and fast. Even Bobby looks shaken enough to put the shotgun down a bit more, not as pointed towards John as before.

“Dean’s soul was deemed important enough to return for his actions, but only because the three gods also enjoyed games,” Castiel explains as Dean looks down, obviously upset himself, “They bet Heaven and Hell – whoever could guess the reason and meaning for three gifts, three simple items, would have control over it. We could not, at that time, resurrect him, not…fully. Hell can only resurrect in connection to a Deal, but even then, such methods produce…issues…with the revived soul. It is often damaged to the point where doing so is more a curse than a blessing. Heaven , with enough power, we may revive a soul and return it to a healed body, but such a method would drain the area around it – any plant, animal, or person nearby would die. This would leave its own mark on the soul, as painful as being pulled back by a demon.”

Bobby looks like he wanted to say something, but stopped, Dad instead speaking up. “How long?”

“November 2nd,” Dean tells him, finally looking back up, “Then the demons and angels get to make their case.”

“If Heaven can answer what all three items mean, then we have control over Dean’s soul,” Castiel tells them, “but if Hell can, they gain it. However, there are many different interpretations of a thing, and I came to see if I could figure them out and help Dean, since he was doing Righteous work, by saving others and hunting abominations.”

Sam flinches briefly at the word, remembering how the others were, and his promise to La Muerte. “Will it be in Colorado?”

“I doubt it,” Dean says, “I think just…at the same time as last year, they’ll appear and it’ll be time for ‘Who Get Dean’s Stupid Soul?’, lightning round. If they don’t answer it…back to square one.”

_Not good enough for Heaven, not bad enough for Hell, and not Remembered or Forgotten…_ That didn’t leave anything for Dean. Sam can see Dad’s mind whirling as he tells him, “La Muerte said we couldn’t join in, Dad. We don’t have anything they want.”

“The hell we don’t!” Dad yells, slamming the table hard enough to startle Jess and get Dean to look up at him uncomfortably, “If I gotta I’ll--.”

“I looked her up after Sam mentioned it,” Bobby mutters, glancing at Castiel, “Same as I looked your ilk up too.” Castiel appears unfazed by the insult, though Dean stiffens in annoyance. Sam doesn’t get Dean’s defensiveness – Castiel is still a monster, an ‘it’, something that they normally would Hunt. Sam had let the kitsune go because she’d been nice and she’d saved him, and what harm would she do? Kitsune sometimes lived off rice, not pituitary glands. Sure, most of those lived off rice in Asian countries, or grain-like material mixed with animal offerings, but still, she hadn’t done anything wrong, and he knew if he did run into her and there were the same deaths, he’d easily kill her. Dean was acting like they had to turn off their senses and worries for him just because he said the guy was fine.

“And?” Dad demands, looking to Bobby who glares up at him.

“You don’t got anything she wants. She only wagers with the Dead or with the other gods. She’s also a ruler of an afterlife. You can’t give her anything or get involved if she don’t want you to.”

Dad looks upset, starting to pace, getting close to the fridge and chilling beer before Dean lets out a sigh. “Sam can’t get in. Dad can…” everyone stopped, waiting for the other shoe to drop, “if he’s ridden in by a demon. If he has the demon recite the things through him, I’m Hell’s property. If they decide that _Dad_ figured it, not the demon, then _Dad_ gets me.” He looks over at Dad as Brady goes pale, shaking his head when he saw Dad’s look.

“NO. No, that is _not_ something you can fight or do anything against. No. A demon, just a black-eyed one, riding you is…it’s…” Brady shakes his head, swallowing and shivering to the point that Sam is almost afraid he’d collapse. “But what he’s talking about is…a higher demon.”

Castiel slowly nods. “It would have to be the one responsible for your wife’s death…or their leader, one of the first demons. Fighting such a demon is near impossible – holding it at bay would be like fighting a rapid tiger or bear.”

“Dad,” Dean slowly stands, moving over to face Dad down as he pust a hand out, swallowing and looking vulnerable as he said, “Promise me, Dad. I don’t want that. I don’t want you to try that, not even if you _think_ there’s a chance. I’d rather…” he stops, swallowing, then shakes his head. “Dad, please. Promise me you won’t ever get to where you’d do that. Promise me that no matter what, you _won’t take that path_. No matter what.”

Dad swallows, looking at Dean in the eye as they stand, Dean’s whole body seeming to plead with him as Sam and Jess move to make sure Brady’s ok, Castiel watching carefully and Bobby looking like he’s just waiting for Dad to say the wrong thing before living up to that promise to shoot him.

“Dean,” Dad says sadly, in the same tone he always uses when he’s about to say how sorry he is, how sad he is, that such things are going on, but it must be _his way_ , and Sam bristles as well, waiting for the excuses.

“Dean is asking that you not risk your soul,” Castiel tells him, “and that you do not risk _his_ either. If his plea is not enough, then I will add in what I have wished to say since I had to wake you,” Castiel moves, and despite being a bit shorter than Dad, he has him backed up and against a kitchen counter, looking scared, as Castiel growls out, “If you so much as _dare_ risk his soul for your own selfish actions, I will _throw you into the pit myself_.”

“Cas!” Dean yells, sounding frightened, and a hand goes to Castiel’s shoulder, pulling him back a bit.

Sam has seen Castiel when he’s shouted, his power rising to the point of destroying electronics, his wings spread in a display of dominance, and his eyes glowing blue-white with angelic power. He’s seen him look confused and heard through the grapevine that Pastor Jim Murphy freaked out after he’d left, the church showing signs of ghostly intrusion when Pastor Jim had believed himself safe. Hell, just recently, he’d seen the husks of the vampires he and Dean had taken out. Castiel is a storm, a powerhouse and apex predator that would send any other monster scattering in fear if he came near it.

Dean puts a hand on his arm, pulls him away slowly, and Castiel _goes with him_.                                                 

If anything, Sam knows he can always convince his Dad to stay out of it by just pointing out one important thing. Castiel is a weapon…and Dean is the one who could set him loose. If they did what Dean asked, if they made sure as much as they could that Dean was safe and happy…then they would still have a weapon to use against the demon.

_October 9, 2006_

It takes all of three days and one vampire Hunt before Sam and John have a drop-down, shouting match fight during the main Hunt, Dean having to get between them and looking all the sicker for it. Neither of the two men notice, and neither does Jess, who takes Sam’s side and demands answers instead of orders. John nearly leaves, ordering Dean to follow, but Castiel tells them there is no need.

“ _WHAT?_ ” John demands as he whirls, angry and attempting to cover up his fright after Castiel had appeared behind him. The angel had disappeared during the fight after he’d gotten a look and nod from Dean, and now moved around the two men to be at Dean’s side. He likes his place there, putting a wing around him, and Dean seems to unconsciously enjoy it as well, shifting closer to him than his family.

“While you two,” he said, glaring at the two other Winchester in the room, “were bickering, I dealt with the nest. They are all dead.” He glances at John, angry, “They were south-west and off the trail, but had a smaller encampment the way you wanted us to go. We would have had to lose time interrogating one with dead man’s blood and that would have resulted in possible deaths.” He moves his glare to Sam, “While you have a point, Sam, the middle of a Hunt, when lives may be in danger, is not the time to bring it up and cause such distractions.”

The mention gets Dean to start, looking at Castiel before asking, “Survivors?”

Castiel nods. “Two, badly wounded, and luckily untainted by the vampiric lust. They are recovering in the local hospital.” He glares at the two other Winchesters anew. “It confuses me greatly that you two are considered the better of the Winchesters in Hunting.”

He sees Sam only bristle briefly before seeming to concede his point, glancing at Dean almost apologetically. While Sam is a strong Hunter in his own rights, and can take a case on his own, he was unluckily forced to specialize in research and book-knowledge. The last year has allowed him to show himself both a capable researcher _and_ Hunter, but he still seems to fall back into those old ways. It only shows John Winchester’s failure as a father and protector, that he so ‘decided’ that Sam could only protect himself so much and was therefore regulated to ‘safe’ areas that were actually unsafe, while Dean was forced to become a soldier so quickly.

John himself bristles up and stays that way despite Sam relaxing. The older Winchester looks like he wants to fight Castiel on this, but the fact is he knows Castiel is powerful and dangerous. They have no way to fight him, and therefore John must take the abuse.

Castiel wonders if he shouldn’t do this more often, so John Winchester would know the horror he visited upon his sons in his obsession and upset state. Sam may have only gotten a small bit of it, but Dean received the lion’s share, and it marked the bright soul that Castiel has vowed to protect, that his Grace has latticed itself around to create a protective shell, one it grew on its own after a lifetime of abuse and sadness.

John instead turns and leaves in a huff, Sam following after a bit and Jess following as well, Dean sitting on the bed and looking up sadly, his green eyes filled with longing. He wants his family to be back, and even with the protection built into it, his soul _aches_ for that. As unhappy and unhealthy as it is, Dean is still attempting to figure out his place within the world he’s become accustomed to, a world that John forced him into, and one that he cannot escape.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says quietly, sitting near him, “but I do not like to see them fight over such trivial things in an attempt to show their power in this dynamic. I dislike that you have no power in this, and that they are too involved in showing their power that they cannot see the harm it is causing you.”

“I know,” Dean says softly, “I shouldn’t have…I never should’ve tried this. Damnit.”

Castiel lets out a breath, moving near and finally, slowly, putting a hand into Dean’s. Dean’s fear of his family’s perception of him has meant that the brief bouts of intimacy have to remain hidden, and Castiel doesn’t mind as much as he hates the fact that neither John nor Sam will allow Dean to be himself. He must always be someone else around them, and lesser.

“We can leave, if you want.”

Dean draws in a breath slowly, finally leaning his head on Castiel’s shoulder. “No. No…if I do that, they’ll fight again. If I stay, they’ll fight again. It doesn’t matter, does it?”

“It matters what _you_ want, Dean. Not what they want.”

“And you?”

“I would rather leave them to each other. Your father cannot accept the information and help you and Sam have offered. Bobby accepts me only because he has no choice. Sam accepts me due to his reverence of the angelic, and his hope that my presence near him absolves him of the demonic blood within him, or his actions. Jess is going to back up Sam in any of his actions, because that is how they care for each other. This is not a healthy place for you. Not when at the end of this month, you will have to go through the trauma of death again.”

Dean lets out a long breath, weighing his options, then stands, moving to lean down and give Castiel a deep kiss. He breaks it off and gives him a smile. “Ok then. Let’s go.”

\--

Neither of them see John looking in, or moving away from the window right as Dean begins to pack. Castiel senses him nearby, but not where he really is.

Uriel makes sure he doesn’t. He hates his orders, but if they will get Castiel back to Heaven, get him back and away from the mud monkeys and their temptations, then Uriel will do anything. Because Castiel is the best of them, and Uriel never should have let him take the blame for what happened. He sees that now. Castiel _must_ be returned to Heaven, and Dean Winchester must go anywhere else, even Hell.

\--

_October 29, 2006_

_Salvation, Iowa_

Dean arrives alone, John frowning as they stand inside the abandoned lodge they’ve chosen, Sam nearby and talking to someone on the phone. Jess has opted to stay behind at Bobby’s, the demon’s focus obviously on drawing them out. John hadn’t expected his son to arrive alone, not with the hold that the thing has on him, and he finally asks, “Where’s your angel?”

“He had to talk to a contact about this. It doesn’t sit right with him.”

John frowns. “I’ve been trackin’ this thing for near thirty years, and I only just got this,” he motions to the wall and the traces he’s found, “this year.”

Dean shrugs. “I think he’s got a few centuries on you there, Dad. Just sayin’.”

It’s another thing John hates about that thing, the way it has Dean so wrapped around its finger, enough that Sam will back down if it means that he won’t anger it. All he’d told John about it was that he’d seen it show off its power once, and once was apparently enough. If they had it when they faced off against the demon…

John remembers how quickly the demon in Chicago had fled in its presence, and he shifts a bit before saying, “This is the demon. It’s the same signs as before.”

“He’s right.”

John barely manages to not jump when the thing appears next to Dean, barely holds back his anger as he sees Dean smile at the thing that has so twisted his oldest son and cowed his youngest into compliance. They had only a few days, a few days and then Dean would be…would…

“It is the demon, or one of its minions like Chicago?” Dean asks, Sam ending his call and walking back over to them as Castiel states that it is, in fact, the demon.

“I am uncertain what its purpose is, though.”

“I think I know,” Sam says, “I had to check on the images I got from that vision, but it’s a solid lead. It’s gonna attack another kid.”

That gets John to start as Castiel frowns. “I don’t understand why it would do that. There is no--.”

“What do you mean, _vision?_ ” John demands, turning to Sam, “What are you talking about?”

Sam blinks, surprised, before he says, “I have visions, Dad.”

“And you _didn’t tell me?_ ”

“We had a better chance of winning the lottery this year then contacting you,” Dean growls out, getting John to look at him, “Sam’s been dealing with his issues and he didn’t have the time or luxury of waiting for you to call up and give him _orders_ about what was going on. I had a time limit on my life, but it’s not like you even gave out my phone number when you decided you needed to have someone else to call. Or that you did anything besides leave me a vague voicemail and then waited nearly three months before I got an even vaguer text.” He glares at John as Sam shifts, standing with him as the angel waits, not showing off, but apparently fine with the chaos it has created in John’s life. He expects this backlash from Sam, but from _Dean_? He’s taught his eldest better than to back talk his father in things like this, to tell him everything that’s been going on. This can only be that angel’s work.

“I’m not sure how solid the lead will be,” Castiel says after a moment, addressing Sam’s power. “The demon may wish to split you, especially with the date arriving so quickly.”

“Do you think it’d send me a false vision?” Sam asks, concerned, “Or…because…”

“I doubt it knows that you will be there for the wager promised to you by La Muerte,” Castiel said, “but that does not stop it from wanting to separate you three. Demons thrive on violence and pain. It has focused on you for its own reasons, Sam.”

Sam looks worried, and John glares, wondering how much the angel knows. Does he know _where_ Sam’s power has come from, what the implications are? Does he know about the others and their age, the same as Sam’s and with a sudden appearance of their powers as well? If it does, how safe is _Sam_? John has managed to follow Dean a few times after they parted ways, and he’s seen as well how deadly the angel could be. If Demons were hard to track, Angels would be up there with the Kong on stealth and infiltration.

“What’d your contact say?” Dean asks, getting Castiel to look at him, worry evident on the thing’s borrowed face.

“I was unable to reach him. I am worried about what that means, especially with how close we are.”

Dean slowly nods, looking paler now that John takes note of him. “Yeah.”

“Dean, there is--.”

“He’s gonna play us like that, Cas, we don’t got a choice, do we?”

Sam glances between them, obviously worried. “You’re not still…Dean, we have the Colt now! It’s got, like, so many bullets and more to make if we really need it! You can’t…you--.”

“What?” John hates this, looking between the three as Dean shakes his head, looking upset at the two as he glares them down.

“They’re gonna try it, that’s the only reason we got warned, only reason that…that we’d…” he stops, swallowing, then shakes his head. “It’s on the table. I’m not listening to you two argue about it again.”

“WHAT?” John yells, angry to be left out. Sam looks at him and shakes his head, storming out of the lodge but stopping to look back at Castiel, saying, “There has to be another way.”

Castiel is quiet, enough for Sam to finish storming out, as Dean walks as far away from John as he can, looking upset. Castiel is silent a long moment before he says, “You received a call that said they went home. I’m sure the psychic who spoke to you originally about the evil that visited your house filled you in on some of the things that occurred.”

Dean is still silent, and John watches him before slowly nodding. “Missouri told me. She said Sam was becoming a strong psychic, but nothing about visions.”

“We had to get rid of a poltergeist in your home. Your wife’s spirit was trapped there.”

John feels his heart begin to race, and now looks at the creature. “No…no, she…”

“She and Dean share much in common,” the creature says with no emotions, just matter-of-factness, “His soul and hers are bright enough to burn up a demon’s influence from anything – a house, a property…a person.”

“no.”

Mary had been there. Mary had been trapped, stuck to his house…and he’d done _nothing_.

“This is why we told you to protect yourself against demonic possession, John Winchester,” Castiel tells him, his voice suddenly cold, “This is why your silence, your insistence that your son deal with these things on his own has caused--.”

“Cas…please…”

Castiel fell silent at Dean’s quiet plea, though the glare was still there. Despite appearing thin and small, not the type that would be of any danger to them, the _power_ emanating off of him, the glare and slight glow of blue-white in the unnaturally blue eyes, was enough to send John shrinking back once more. He watches as Dean slowly turns, looking at Castiel then over to John.

“Dad…you’re the one who cut us off. If you’re upset now for learning about it so late, that’s your own fault. This is my choice…and that’s why I needed you to be prepared. I know you’re not.”

John wants to protest – he knows the demon, he has the information – but instead Dean continues, “I know you’re not because you don’t have anything there,” he waves to the wall, “about anti-possession charms or tattoos. I know because for someone who keeps the back of his truck so organized and clean, you only have some holy water and a few other things. You don’t even have a protective fetish or symbol in your fucking trunk, and I drew one in the Impala _months_ ago. Sam’s got one in the Charger too.” Dean is getting agitated, but his skin is becoming _paler,_ and John suddenly feels worry forming in his gut, realize how bad his eldest looks, how close to death now.

If the angel notices anything, he doesn’t say or do anything as Dean continues, “You had enough time to go and talk to a half-baked psychic who couldn’t keep our house safe from a poltergeist that would’ve hurt someone, and then you send me a bullshit text about that shtriga? You didn’t even call Sam when Jess got hurt, when she was _dying_ , no, you’re fine with just changing your answering machine to leave _his number_ , not mine! Because I can’t be trusted to do anything alone, right Dad?”

“Dean…”

“ _I asked you a fucking question, Dad_ ,” Dean roars, paler now, moving to get near John as he pants, angry and shaking. “ _ANSWER IT._ ”

John shakes his head. He’d put Sam’s number after he’d heard about Sam’s success and not heard anything from Dean. So he’d put on Sam’s number, because John had thought…

“It’s not important, Dean,” John finally settles on, and he watches as his son straightens, changing back to the way he should be, the soldier he needs to be for this. “We…we’ll talk after all of this is over. I need…we need this to be over, Dean.”

Dean is silent, his eyes lock on John’s for a long moment before he finally says, “Whatever you want, Dad.”

Good…it’s good to see that in there, even with the angel nearby, his son is still there. It gives John hope that when this is over, everything will be fine. He’ll be able to be normal, he and Dean and Sam. Everything will be fine, and after this was done, and the Angels or demons or whatever didn’t have Dean, everything would be perfect.

\--

_October 30, 2006_

Dean groans as he wakes up, turning his head into the warm body next to him, feeling Castiel’s familiar hand moving through his hair and the small bits of warmth, like a light shock, working to make him feel better. He knows that they’re running it close, and he has a feeling that’s what the demon wants. He knows that after yesterday, he needed the rest, but it feels like there is nothing that either he or Castiel can do to get him back to where he’d been for the last few months.

The wax is burning out, and apparently, Grace doesn’t work as a substitute.

There is a sudden, quick succession of knocks on the door, Castiel moving to open it as Dean groans and sits up, surprised to see Sam come in, looking worried. “Pastor Jim is dead. He got attacked in his church, got all the way back to where his Hunting stuff was.”

Dean’s fully awake, looking at him as he asks, “Dad knows?”

“Yeah. He thinks it’s the demon.”

“A powerful demon would not attack one of your father’s contacts, especially one who has not heard from him in a year,” Castiel says, seeming concerned, “but it might be one of the minions, especially one who knows of your contacts, or one who wants to cause pain to your family.”

Sam looks angry at that idea, muttering, “Meg,” before Castiel nods.

Dean gets up and ready quickly, glancing over as he sees Dad standing near his big truck, looking upset as he glared at Castiel, as if his presence was the one actually causing the issue.

“I don’t care what your purpose is, or what happens. This ends, _now_. I’m ending it, and I don’t care what it takes.”

Castiel is quiet, like he had been before, and Dean glances at him and then back to Dad. He knows what Castiel is thinking, and he understands the feeling. Dad’s determination to end something tended to end with someone else getting hurt. Sam looks like he wants to protest, and Dean finally draws in a breath.

Castiel is the one who speaks and breaks the tension that the two Winchester brothers have, watching John as he says, “Then you will fail at this, and fail your children, as your ‘dedication’ has failed all the others.”

The tension is interrupted by a phone call to Sam, who frowns as he answers. “Hello?...I don’t know who this is……”silence and he straightens, looking worried. “Meg…you _died_. She _toasted_ you.”

Dean glances over as he sees Dad tense, starting to move forward but Castiel is quicker, moving and looking at the phone before making a motion, the ‘go on’ that he’s learned from Dean. Sam glances at Dean then nods, saying, “My brother? We’re not exactly on speaking terms…”

\--

“Put your brother on, it’s time for the grown-ups to talk,” Meg growls into the phone, “let me speak to him _now_.”

“No, _”_ the gravelly voice gets Meg to drop her phone, backing up to try to put Caleb between her and the thing that had been with Sam’s brother.

“He’s a bad liar,” she grinds out, holding a knife to the bound man’s throat. “And so is this one.”

The thing looks at her, and she wanted to run. Every instinct in her mind tells her to _run, run, get out of there_ , but she has to push through it. She _needs_ to get them to where her father could get control. He wants the Colt and John Winchester, before the day that Dean Winchester’s soul is up and they get it from the Angels.

“You tell the Winchesters we’ll keep this up. We know all their contacts. Even if you kill me, how many others do you think you can get to before the day is done? One? Five? We’ll take them all out.”

“You won’t,” the thing said, his voice gravelly and full of power that makes Meg want to shrink back in terror, “and even if you did, do you not think that will bring more like me? If Humanity has no champions, who do you think comes to guide them back into the light?” He strides forward, and Meg shrinks back, pushing the bound Caleb at him and brandishing her knife in the hopes of protecting herself.

“What were your terms?”

“The Colt, and we let the marked bitch and her kid go free. No new boy-king to fight it out among the others.”

The thing tilts its head, as if to consider that, then takes another step forward. In the cramped basement where the bastard had run before Meg caught and hogtied the man, she is already against a wall, and the choice is either get out of the meatsuit she’d perfected and hope for the best, or try to once more teleport away.

She runs, leaving the battered, half-dead soul to deal with the consequences. She _SEES_ it then, really finally sees what it was that had stalked up to her, that reached out and nearly _grabbed_ her, would have if she wasn’t faster, that tore out a part of her and left her flying back down, down to _Hell_ again.

It is huge, and shining, and all she can think of is a far-away memory, of a book she’s read before she’d died, one that described beings with hidden faces, who cried up to God and who came down to slay demons created by their fallen brother. Demons like her…

_ANGEL_ , she cries out as she falls back into Hell, _there is an ANGEL with Dean Winchester!_

\--

Castiel knows that he’d not killed the demon, but had wounded it badly enough to send it back to Perdition. That was enough of a punishment, but it also means that he would have to be wary. If that demon made it back to Earth, it would be more powerful, and more prepared.

He kneels beside the body it had abandoned, feeling the light flutter of the soul still within the battered body. It’s not strong enough to carry on – its own small depression had called in the demon, and the acts committed weighed it down in a way that could not be easily cared for. It shies away from Castiel’s Grace, as if attempting to escape from it, and he lets out a long sigh before finally giving it rest. The soul disappears, and he glances over at the still-bound friend before moving to pick up the phone, speaking into it as he heard Sam’s concerned voice over the other line.

“The demon is gone back to hell, but her master is still here. He was going to trade the Colt for the life of the mother and child.”

Sam draws in a breath on the other line, “ _Do you think we can--?_ ”

“Demons lie. If they do not, it is only because the truth is far more painful. However, I also believe that the demon is now more aware of my presence.” He lets out a breath. “I must agree with your father on this. We must act quickly.”

“ _You didn’t get any information, did you?_ ” Castiel hears John’s voice over the phone.

Castiel shifts, feeling the remains of the demon that he’d pulled from it, and the bits of information within its memory. “I did. But how long that will remain accurate is finite.” He ends the call, and with a brief snap of his fingers, allows the friend free. “Care for the body. She would not let me heal her.” He disappears quickly, appearing beside John and Sam, who were arguing, causing both to jump. Dean is already getting the Impala ready.

“We have little time,” Castiel tells them, unhappy at their bickering, “I know where the demon will be.”

“Yeah, the kid’s--”

“No,” Castiel says, shaking his head. “The fires, the children, the deaths were a ruse to get at your father, to find and destroy Hunters who search for demons. The demon is hiding elsewhere, and well protected.” He glances at John. “You wished for it to end, and it will. But all of us are working on borrowed time now. It will not remain there long.”

“Where is it hiding?” Dean finally asks, sounding worried, as if he already knows the answer. Castiel suspects he does.

“Colorado.”

\--

_11:55 pm - October 31, 2006_

_Sterling, Colorado_

Some part of Sam knows that Castiel should have been able to get them right to where the demon was, but another part of him is used to Castiel simply appearing himself, not to him taking anything or anyone else with them. He simply has started to get used to the angel taking himself elsewhere, not Dean or anyone else.

Caleb calls and is, of course, furious that John would allow himself to work with ‘a monster’, even if said ‘monster’ saved him from a demon. Sam suspects Caleb is angrier at having been left with a body to take care of, not at Castiel’s supernatural origin. Dad, of course, didn’t take it that way, and is currently glaring at the wall that divides the two, like he could look through it and see Castiel doing something _evil_ or something like that to Dean. Considering that this is one of the first times in Sam’s life they had separate rooms, Sam can guess that Dad is just angry Dean decided to take a room with Castiel, instead of leaving him with two hostile Winchesters to deal with.

“What the hell is your problem with them?” Sam finally asks, getting Dad to glance over at him, surprised. “Why are you so upset with them now of all times?”

Dad looks over at him, and then let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I…saw something, a few weeks ago.”

“What?”

“Does it matter?” the cool female voice asks, getting both men to turn abruptly as the lights in the room go out. Standing in the middle, the only source now, is La Muerte. Dad swallows, moving for his gun, but Sam reaches out a hand, stopping him.

“It’s…Dean said…”

“I’m not here for Dean,” she tells him, getting Sam to relax, “but I will be very busy tomorrow night, and we still have a wager.”

Sam sees Dad look worried, as if now meeting the tall, candy-made goddess who stood before them. She gives Sam a smile that causes him to relax, her small hand moving to brush away a stray strand of hair from his face. “You did well in what I asked. Are you ready to make the wager I spoke of?”

“Yes. Please, I…one of us already died, another is so alone, she needs help.”

He knows Dad is watching him with surprise and fear, as if hearing that there were more like Sam, or that Sam knew about the others, was a surprise. La Muerte gives a small smile before she nods, saying, “I can use my power to make it so that you will have more of a hold over your destiny. What do you wish me to do, Sam Winchester? What is your wager?”

Sam swallows, thinking to what he’d been trying to write up, what he and Jess worked on for so long, and finally says, “I want us to have that fighting chance against whatever evil influence. I want to find them, so I might be able to help. If I can save _one_ …”

La Muerte’s hand moves to lift up Sam’s chin, so he’s looking into her dark eyes. “You wish to know where they are, and you will do your best to save just one?”

“I want to try for all, but…even if it’s just one…”

She smiles at that, and leans forward to whisper, “And if you fail?”

“I…my soul…”

“I am not a demon or an angel, Sam Winchester. I do not take such things unless it is time for them to travel to their resting place, or on special occasions. So if you do this, and save just one, what will you get? If you fail, and none are saved, what will I get?”

His mind rushes before he says, “If I win, we won’t be bothered. We’ll have protection from demons or those who’d want to use us.”

“And if you fail?”

“If then…then…let us be found by angels and the ones who would kill us.”

“SAM!” Dad yells, but before he can say any more, La Muerte kisses Sam’s forehead.

He sees them all, there are so _many_ , and he gasps as he looks up at her. She looks sad, as if such a thing is not what she wants, and she once more touches his cheek.

“ _Pobrecito_. If there was ever one I would love to have come to my land, to know no pain and only happiness and our eternal fiesta, it would be you and your brother. You have until there are no more children, Sam Winchester. When that is done, if even one is on your side, you will win. If not, I win.” She has a look that says to Sam she hopes that, in this wager, she loses.

“I’ll do my best to win, then,” Sam finally says, earning another smile before the goddess disappears in a whirl that leaves orange marigold petals on the ground, the lights slowly coming back on as Sam lest out a breath and looked back at his father, who appears stricken.

“If we lose, we’ll be tools for demons, Dad, ones that you _can’t_ trace. I’d rather try and be safe then fail and have that loosed on the world.” He lets out another sigh, glancing at the clock as the date changed. “We have twenty-four hours now. We have to focus on saving Dean.”

He’s grateful when his father finally nods, whatever argument or fight he was about to bring up disappearing from him at the reminder. “You’re right. We gotta focus on that.”

\--

_12:01 pm - November 1, 2006_

_Grand Junction, Colorado_

Dean feels a chill as they get into the city, remembering the first time he’d come here, and knowing the reason for the demon picking this place as it’s last stand. He watches as Castiel looks around, obviously trying to get a read on the place, as Dad and Sam come up, the trio of dark cars blending in on the backwoods drive they’d taken to gather and plan.

“It’s still here, along with others,” Cas says, getting Dad to throw him a suspicious look as Dean nods. He guesses that since today is The Day, he’s just noticing more of the supernatural then he normally would. And this whole town feels like it’s up to its eyeballs in bad energy. He hopes that Haley and her brothers are alright - he doesn’t want to freak them out by going to check on them, but he’s also worried that they might be targets. If they’re hurt because of him…

“We should check on the family I saved,” he mutters, looking up at Cas as Dad and Sam watch, Dad still glaring and Sam appearing worried. “They might be targets, and they had to get off that mountain on their own...I just…”

“Dad and I can go and check on them, not freak them out,” Sam offers, a good middle ground as he glances at Cas, “Do you have an idea of where the demon is?”

Cas frowns, seeming to listen, then slowly shakes his head. “No...something is blocking it. I…” he seems to be trying something, concentrating, then his body slumps in defeat. “Something is blocking my power.”

“The demon?” Dad asks, sounding less than concerned and more like he’s testing a theory. He looks upset when Cas shakes his head, looking disgruntled.

“It does not have the power to bind me like this.” He lets out a breath.

Dean looks at him, worried, and finally asks, “What about other Angels?”

Both Sam and Dad look surprised at that, while Cas worries before also shaking his head. “I would hope not, but I have not heard of such a power. I think it might be the three gods, preparing for the wager.”

That gets Dad to freeze, Sam glancing between the two before finally saying, “Ok, so it’s either angels or the gods. But we’re here for the demon, will it interfere with you helping us with that?”

Cas shakes his head. “No.”

“Then that just means we have to work quick,” Sam glances at Dean, worried but determined. “Who were the three you saved?”

Dean gives Sam the information, not sure what else to do besides check for any signs that pointed to the demons. “Cas and I can check the library for any signs that might have shown up. If there are demons here, they probably popped up like crazy.”

“We could switch,” Dad suggests, getting Sam to turn and glare at him as Dean frowns at them, Dad not backing down while he says, “I know about the signs, and I haven’t gotten a chance to really talk to Dean. You and Cas can talk to the kids and make sure they’re safe.”

“Dad,” Sam’s voice carried a weird warning that got Dean to glance between the three. Cas looks as confused as Dean feels, and Sam is apparently attempting to silently tell off Dad. Dean’s almost tempted to make another switch, but some part of him knows that Cas and Dad will go together as well as a cooking fire and water.

“It’s fine,” he finally says, getting Sam to cast him a worried look, “He’s right, we haven’t really talked...and we’re not gonna. It’s research, Dad, not a time for a final heart-to-heart.” Dean glances at Cas, who nods in silent agreement, before he says, “If anything happens, we’ll give you two a call, ok?”

“Be careful,” Cas says, getting Dean to look over at him with a small smile. “I don’t like this, not today.”

“This wasn’t gonna end well anyway,” Dean points out, running a hand through his hair, “and we both know you need to cut the connection, Cas.”

Cas looks over at Dean, really looks at him like he always does, and shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“Cas…”

“I will decide when to do that, Dean. It’s my choice, just as it was my choice before.”

Dean lets out a breath, annoyed with the angel, then nods. “Fine. Just...be careful.”

“You as well.”

\--

The papers at the library are awash in signs - all of them circle the town for at least a week or more, and none of the patrons who are in the library show signs of being black-eyed demons. Dean is on the computer, looking at what information he can pull up, while Dad searches through the most recent newspaper next to him.

“Dean…”

“I told you, not today Dad.”

“Then when?”

“After.”

“And if there isn’t an after?”

Dean sighs as he stops typing, looking over at John before he says, “You didn’t answer my question because it wasn’t important, and that was weeks ago. Still haven’t. I don’t have to answer whatever idea you got in your head about me or about what’s going to happen.” He turns back to the computer, letting out an angry huff as he adds, “You disappeared for more than a year, Dad. You didn’t check on anything until there was no other option, and I don’t want to hear it. I want to get this over with so I can go and save someone else.”

Dad is silent, and Dean can feel his eyes boring into the back of his head. “What?”

“You...after this, you’re really gonna keep this up?”

Dean frowns and looks over at him, confused. “Dad, what the hell else did you prepare me for? What did you think would happen when we kill it? Sam I get going back - he’s got a girl, he’s smart, and if you think you’d get away with just weekender visits to see Adam after this, his mom _will_ have your balls, and I wouldn’t put it past her after what you pulled.” Dad manages to look both surprised and ill at the same time. “Sam figured it out. I guessed, but I didn’t want to believe that about you. I could see that as a reason from getting the hell out of dodge when you realized it was a Woman in White. But you never got me ready for anything besides this. _This_ was my life, and you demanded Sam and I only think of this. When it’s over, there’s still gonna be witches and ghosts, werewolves and vampires and whatever else is out there. It doesn’t stop when Mom’s avenged. So I’m not gonna stop, even if you and Sammy do.”

Dad looks like the whole thing is painful, and his hands are shaking as he manages to fold the newspaper neatly. Dean goes back to research as Dad speaks up, still staring at the newspaper and not Dean. “I didn’t want this for you, Dean. I never did. But I needed you to be strong. I needed you to be the one who held us together. You can do that away from this, find some nice girl and get married. Not stay with...with the angel, the thing that’s…”

“Cas isn’t doing anything to me, Dad. If he is, I asked him to. But considering how close I am to dying, we haven’t. And I like guys as much as girls. They pay better in pool halls, anyway.”

He says it to get a rise out of Dad, and he watches his fist clench as Dean adds, “Also pay better for things you forget, like food, or clothing when Sammy’s growing, or the electric bill. I got real good, real quick. I get demons and monsters, Dad. People I don’t. And don’t you even say that you’d have protected me. You didn’t do it when I was six and you gave me that gun, you didn’t do it with the shtriga when I was unwilling bait, and you certainly didn’t when the only reason you remembered I was at Sonny’s was because the case was done and someone had to watch out for Sammy.”

“Dean--.”

Dean holds up his hand, pointing to the article he’d pulled up. “This is the place.”

“How can you be--.” Dad starts to argue, but quiets when he looks at the article fully, then nods. “Let’s go. Text Sam. We’ll meet them there.”

They get only a step out of the library before both men pause, seeing the small gang that has gathered front. One man, older, wearing a priest’s uniform with stained blood on it, stood at the front of the crowd. He looks over Dad once, then back to Dean, his eyes turning yellow as he does.

“Well, well...quite the catch, aren’t they my children? And where were you going, little Winchesters?”

\--

Haley and her family are in danger, and it eats up too much time so that, by the time they’re safe again, shaken and afraid, Sam is too late to save his brother, father, or the innocents in the library that burns to the ground. There is no plan on how to get Dean and Dad back. The call from an underling called Tom nearly has Sam breaking the phone before he demands options from Castiel. Castiel’s power is strong enough to get them there, but not enough to get them there with a car.

Sam hates it, because he knows now why La Muerte came to visit him a day early, and why she said she’d be busy. He couldn’t be there. He has no place in that group, other than a witness and potential target. The Colt, a gun that can kill demons with one shot, is important. Sam’s wager, his wager that _demands_ he be alive and trying to save the others like him ( _So many, there are so many and so many of them are in need of help, of answers…_ ) means he can’t be there.

But Castiel is an angel, and for whatever reason, he’s tied to Dean in ways that Sam can’t comprehend. So he looks at the shorter man who houses a powerhouse, and tells him, “Save my brother.”

Haley and her brothers look ready to ask to come, but Sam says, “We need to get out of town, and I’m your fastest way out. You’ll be safe with me for tonight. Come on. This isn’t going to end well.”

Castiel shakes his head, looking at the trio. “Dean does not wish your lives on his conscious. Go, learn to be safe from Sam, and live your lives.” He glances at Sam. “I will do all I can to save him.”

It’s all Sam can ask, and he’s hard-pressed to not look back as they speed down the 70, away from the town as an unnatural, dark storm began to roll in. He hates it, hates leaving them behind, but he can’t look back, and he can’t feel sorry for himself. He has to trust Castiel to get them back.

Sam’s not surprised to realize that he does trust Castiel with that, and a great deal more.

\--

_7:00pm - November 1, 2006_

The sun is set as Castiel strides into the desecrated and destroyed old church near the edge of town, the faint traces of prayers and holy vows still echoing despite it’s new residents. The demons attempt to come up to him as he walks in, stopping just short as he glowers at them. Like the one he’d torn out of a girl called Meg, these are younger demons, ones who do not remember angels. Azazel, standing before him wearing John Winchester’s body, was so young when Uriel threw them into Hell again, and sealed the doorway. A volcano erupted that day, if Castiel remembers right, and it covered at least two cities full of innocents in ash and dust.

“So the rumors were true,” the demon says as he looks at him, Dean tied and gagged to the altar, struggling against his bonds. Nearby, the dead body of Azazel’s host before that lay, the soul already having been consumed by its guilt and sent to the pit. “I thought the angels didn’t send out anyone to do their bidding on Earth. Too full of the flawed humans and the abominations.”

Castiel says nothing, continuing forward as Azazel glares, then smirks. “Johnny boy _knows_ about you and Dean-o here. Knows you’ve been riding him rough and leaving him off to dry. Or is it the other way around? You Falling for some measly human now?”

Silence continues, some of the younger demons becoming bold and starting to move forward only to fly back, ripped out and exorcised from their body the moment they approach, the bodies falling down to recover later or simply dying with the power that crackles around him.

Even weakened, he can take on Azazel. It will be hard, and John Winchester will die horribly, burned out of the body with the demon that took him, but Castiel can do this and spare Dean from having to do what he believes he must. Sam Winchester asked that he save Dean...not John. If he knew what he demanded, or if he simply thought of Dean first and only, it didn’t matter. Castiel wants to protect Dean from all harm, wants to make sure he is cared for, and that no matter what the outcome of tonight, that he will be outside of Perdition. Even if it means the Land of the Forgotten, or a place between realms, Castiel is fine with this. Dean deserves Heaven, but after its actions, Castiel could not see a reason to bring Dean there without his consent.

“Not gonna deny it, huh angel?” Azazel’s voice has a note of fear in it as more of his ‘children’ attack, and Castiel’s Grace begins to burn them out, killing them and leaving husks without eyes, and he can feel what Grace he has within him beginning to glow, to respond to the demon’s presence and Castiel’s own desire to protect Dean. He can see Dean’s wide, frightened green eyes and can see his soul’s flame flickering and sputtering madly. Dean doesn’t want his father dead, and Castiel’s methods will result in that.

Castiel stops at the end of the line of pews, the demons that Azazel had brought all dead behind him, scattered across the church, and he looks at Azazel coldly, unmoving and unspeaking. If Azazel believes himself to have the upper hand by wearing John Winchester, it is only because Dean is afraid for what will happen, and his soul is beginning to unravel from Castiel’s Grace. As much as Castiel wants to save Dean, at the cost of anything else, he knows that will only harm Dean in the long run.

Despite it all, Castiel must let this pass again. He must see another soul--

“Better,” Azazel hisses out, allowing his borrowed body to move down and caress Dean’s face, as lover would do, as he says, “I personally like Sammy better. He’s got more fight in him. Where is my boy, anyway?”

Castiel doesn’t say, Azazel looking over at him and smirking. “No matter. He’ll be along soon. Sammy never could stay away if it meant being the hero.” A hard laugh. “Oh, he loves it when Daddy calls him the hero. When they go in and rescue useless, pathetic, waste-of-space Dean-o.” Azazel moves his hand along Dean again, getting Dean to redouble his effort to escape his bonds. Azazel looks up for a sign that this is bothering Castiel, but Castiel is emotionless for the moment.

No matter what, he remembers. Today is the day Azazel dies. They promised that last night.

Castiel simply has to make sure that Dean does not follow him into Death as well.

Azazel grins maliciously at Dean, moving to rest just over where Dean’s soul resides. “I just need to get that secret out of you. So, Feathers, do you know how to get answers from a soul?”

\--

_Dean…_

_Tell me there’s a way, Cas._

_There is. It will be painful, because he will touch your soul to do this. He will put his hand into your body, painfully, and touch it._

_...and then?_

_I believe then, your soul will react._

_Just believe?_

_\--_

Azazel’s hand went into Dean’s chest, and all that kept back Dean’s scream was the gag. All that held Castiel to the spot, watching, was what happened next.

\--

_Your soul is a candle and protected itself before. It’s now far more open, and has my Grace with it. It also has the tar from Xibalba._

_Tar isn’t flammable like that, Cas._

_No. But souls are. And demons…_

_Cas?_

_Demons are simply souls that are more flammable than others._

_\--_

Azazel screams the moment he touches it, and Dean’s soul, on it’s own, roars into a bonfire that makes his whole body glow with its power. The Righteous Man has a brilliant soul, when it is not hidden by years of abuse, fears, and insecurities. When it is doing what it believes is right, when it is destroying evil and saving others, it is as bright as a sun.

Azazel attempts to run, smoke billowing out of John Winchester as he attempts to pull his hand free of Dean’s body, but the Grace-powered flame follows him, nearly setting John Winchester himself alight as the smoke catches fire, burning to ash as John falls down to his knees, freed and uncoordinated.

Dean’s eyes stare up at the opened ceiling where a steeple should be. His body cools as it had a year ago, when he’d saved people and died for that cause.

The church is lit by long-dead candles, and Castiel moves forward slowly, shakily, to untie Dean and put a hand to his chest.

“The secret died with him, _angelito_ ,” Xibalba says, sounding unimpressed, “and we are even worse off now than when we started.”

John Winchester barely has the time to react before a light streams down, John looking up at it for only a moment before he begins to shake his head, quickly and with hardly any thought. The light disappears as another man appears, Zachariah with him, and the two look at Castiel with disgust. Castiel ignores them, instead using his Grace to untie Dean and looking at his vacant eyes while John Winchester sobs. Michael glances at him as well before raising his hand.

“He was brought here by Azazel, and is welcomed here as much as you are, _Miguelito_ ,” La Muerte says coldly from behind them, “or did you think we wouldn’t notice your cheating?”

“You make it sound like your _husband_ doesn’t cheat all the time,” the far more feminine and sultry voice of Lilith speaks up, showing she’d decided to shed her childish game for today. “Or are you claiming that you only allow him to cheat you?”

“Said like a woman who felt cheated her whole life,” La Muerte says with a cold tone as the Candlemaker appears, the Book fluttering softly as it approached Dean’s body, holding out a hand. The soul is burned down to where almost nothing remains, and Castiel is surprised there’s even a barest flicker of life to it. He wants to reach for it, but he doesn’t know if he can now. It’s up to Michael to say what he’s learned, what Castiel gave him before cutting off communication with Heaven. He has to hope that it will be enough.

John moves forward to try to get Castiel away from Dean, his pain at what happened, not to mention the pain of his son’s sacrifice, making him angry as the others spoke around him. He doesn’t seem to notice the Candlemaker holding the small soul, mostly dead, or the others in the room. He only sees Castiel over Dean’s dead body.

“You...you damned…”

“You were the one who told him any means necessary, and for all that Azazel wished to hurt, those feelings were yours, John Winchester,” the Candlemaker says, getting his attention briefly before John tries to shake his head, deny what was said as Xibalba speaks.

“Then everyone is here? Good. Well, _Miguelito, diabolita,_ what did _you_ learn? What are the secrets?”

They both speak at once, rushing to get over each other, but La Muerte stops them.

“We told you the wager. _You_ would be the ones who were supposed to learn the secrets. The Items were connected to his roles, and you all,” she even casts a glare at John, who is still gazing down at Dean’s corpse, “have responsibility for destroying them. Meaning you cannot win. The wager is lost. Dean is ours.”

“You _stuck up--_ ” Zachariah begins as Lilith spews her own curses at them, Castiel looking at the Candlemaker in disbelief and confusion.

“Is that true?”

“That was the wager. They were to find the meaning. If you can guess all three, then the soul is _yours_.”

Castiel looks at Michael and Zachariah, at Lilith and the few, higher demons hiding just outside, and at John, who is too distraught to speak.

“So long as you know the three, you may make a claim,” the Candlemaker says, his pronouncement now causing silence to fall as everyone looks at Castiel, “Well, angel? Are you offering up a guess for the three? You were there, at the beginning.”

Castiel nods, feeling odd, dumbfounded, as La Muerte says, “He went cared for Dean and did his best to help all in need. I will allow him a guess.”

Xibalba lets out a disgusted snort, then finally says, “Our wager was sound, and I was pleased with the results. He may have a guess. But he must get _all three_.”

Lilith glares at Xibalba. “And us?”

“You had your chance. You spouted out ideas and none of them worked. Same with _Miguelito_. You both failed, and have no points. So...no.”

Lilith stomps her foot, as petulant as the children she normally took, and Michael himself turns to La Muerte. “Then this will be a win for Heaven.”

“You represented Heaven, _Miguelito._ The spoiled _diabolita_ represented Hell. Castiel, then, represents himself. Not you.”

“He is an angel, and of Heaven!”

“And Heaven destroyed my Marigold, in an attempt to take it and Dean early,” she points out, “Just as Hell tried to force out the secret. You have no claim on Castiel if he guesses right, and no claim on Dean. Dean will be Castiel’s, and what he does with it after that is up to him.”

Everyone looks to Castiel. He dislikes being the center of attention like this, so he instead turns to the Candlemaker, and looks at the Book, which seems to ruffle itself in a way to encourage him. He nods, then said, “A blank page to be written on, and write one’s own story, apart from those he was faithful to. For Dean was a Faithful Son, who will never be as loved or longed for as the Prodigal one, but through his own trials, he crafted his own end, and his own story.”

The Candlemaker smiles, and nods to La Muerte. Castiel turns to her, seeing the candles and golden flowers on her red dress, her pale skin, and spoke.

“A Righteous Man will give up his life for others, and will mourn them as one uses your marigolds to mourn others. He takes into his heart so many, and any who are harmed or hurt, he will mourn. Any who need his aid later, he will drop all to aid. But he has to take that grief and apply it to his own self - his loss of self, of childhood, and of his security. He can mourn them, and celebrate those who help him now.”

La Muere’s smile is wide, and she waves him to Xibalba. The dark-winged god watches curiously, as Castiel looks at him and thinks of what he saw. Of what that finally bit was, and of what it meant.

“Dean is the True Vessel...and True Vessels are ones with souls that will go out in the face of the angels who claim them.” He waves a hand to his own. “True Vessels and their souls give way, and care not for what happens after. All they have known is that they must be filled, and wait for that day. But I know the secret that you spoke, that you told the Vessel and left, waiting to be heard.”

“And that is?” Xibalba asks, looking almost like he is anticipating the right answer.

Castiel is silent, looking at Xibalba. The god looks him squarely in the eye, as he has to see the fear that Uriel held, that Castiel and Dean had held, and he laughs.

“Bravo,” Xibalba says, laughing harder and wiping a tear from his eye. “I have not seen such a win in centuries.”

“You did very well to learn them all, Castiel,” La Muerte tells him, her smile still large.

The Candlemaker laughs too, and smiles when Castiel looks back at him. “He’s yours to care for now, Castiel. Nothing can take him from you. Do what you wish.”

Castiel reaches forward carefully, taking the fragile, small soul from the Candlemaker and cupping it between his hands. He’s not certain who attempts to speak or direct him first, he only knows there is a sudden quiet, and when he looks, Michael and Zachariah, along with Lilith and John, are gone. He’s alone with the three, who move to circle him and Dean.

“We’re so very glad it was you,” La Muerte tells him.

“You have no idea,” Xibalba says. “And thank you, for keeping it quiet. Do you really wish to know the truth, or will it be fine with Dean for now?”

Castiel slowly shakes his head. “I do not desire power, or to see Dean’s tasks break him as Heaven and Hell would break him. I promised his brother I would save him. I promised myself…” he stops, uncertain of what to say. “Heaven will hunt me for this. I will be cast out for not bringing them the soul they desired.”

“Yet now they must also find the others, and they must prepare,” the Candlemaker points out. “You destroyed Azazel a year before he was supposed to die, and that leaves a void. Hell must find a Righteous Man who will break the first Seal. Heaven must pretend they are not aiding them when already, dissent grows over what happened. Cut from Heaven or no, Castiel, you and Dean Winchester are needed.”

He nods, and finally moves forward. His Grace is freed from the wager that Xibalba set, and now it surges so his wings splay high above them, cover them from Heaven’s sight. He places the small soul back down, remembering how the Candlemaker and others remade it, and slowly creates a lattice work of Grace around it, threading it to allow the soul to heal itself instead of relying on hiding or his power.

With that done, as the soul sinks into the body and the fire begins to flare back to life, Castiel bends down and kisses Dean, feeling the life and air rush back into him as he does. The warm glow returns to his pale skin, and his green eyes blink twice before Castiel pulls away, looking down at him with a smile.

“Hello Dean.”

“Hey Cas.”

This time, the kiss is mutual, and deep. This time, they have more than just a year.

The End


End file.
